A climate activist in Paris stuck a protest poster on Monet’s ‘Poppy Field’

DEAR MISS LONELYHEARTS: I ran into my sister’s husband at the bar recently. He was drinking with a bunch of people from his work. I noticed he was sitting close to a young woman, with his arm around her.

I just nodded without a smile as I slowly passed them. I kept on going, but he knew I saw them together. A few minutes later he came over — obviously drunk — and said, “You’re a good girl! You won’t say anything to your sister, will you?” Ha! I looked at him and said, “Of course I’m going to say something!”

My loyalty will always be to my sister. I phoned my sis in my car and blabbed. She tried to laugh it off, but she’s gone silent since — not answering my calls or messages. So apparently now I’m the troublemaker? That’d be just her style! What should I do?

— Worried About Us, North Kildonan

A morning in the life …

My very first lesson does not start when I walk into that lecture hall, oh no — it starts long before. It begins when I walk to my car, check the estimated arrival time to the University of Manitoba and hope that Winnipeg traffic agrees with it.

A drive that appears completely manageable changes almost immediately when I’m greeted by a tsunami of orange pylons and a line of cars that appears to go on forever. Traffic moves by the inch, lanes magically disappear and the detour I took yesterday now has a detour of its own. These factors make me do a calculation that I have become all too familiar with. How late can I arrive and still find parking, run to my class across campus and get to class with enough time left to make it worth it?

I have grown used to people saying, “Why not just leave earlier?” I do. But when I’m already leaving for my 8:30 a.m. class at 7 a.m., there’s only so much I can do. This drive that some would think is relaxing is one that feels like an assignment that I didn’t know I had to complete and is due at 8:30 a.m.

DEAR MISS LONELYHEARTS: I ran into an old boyfriend I used to curl on a team with, and we went for drinks. We’ve been almost eight years apart, and I couldn’t remember why we broke up, as we always had such a great time together.

It wasn’t until the second date — this time on a weekend — that it came back to me, with a jolt. Pee-yew! I remembered he doesn’t use deodorant on weekends. Why? He enjoys his own body odour. I recalled that a bit too late, and it was just as awful as ever! I went home early.

Tonight, he called and I refused him another date. I said, “Think back. You remember why we broke up?” Then he said, “Oh yeah, you hated my no-deodorant weekend policy. Well, guess what? Some women don’t mind!” I said I really doubted that, and that ended the conversation. Miss L., wouldn’t any women find stinky underarms offensive?

— Sensitive Nose, Fort Richmond