Baffled by breakfast, 'no' to nostalgia & Aunt Flo's undies

Dear Rachel,

I live such a sheltered life that I, bumping up against 45 and therefore prime viewing age for Brat Pack movies, just watched “The Breakfast Club” for the first time. I know folks are passionate about this movie, and it’s probably brilliant for its time, but I can’t get past the simple fact that there is no breakfast in the movie. They eat lunch, but it’s not the Lunch Club. Why would they name themselves after something that they didn’t even do together? 

– The Makes-No-Sense Club

Dear Dinner Organization,

Answering this deep philosophical conundrum gets at the very root of metaphorical thinking. If there is no breakfast, how can it be about breakfast? The answer, of course, is that the phrase is catchy and therefore sticks in your brain so much that even for the 36 of your 45 years that you never watched it, you knew it existed. Also, it’s called a euphemism. Sounds a lot more delicious than the Detention Gang.

– Eat my shorts, Rachel

Dear Rachel,

I’m guessing you were the first person in line to watch the “Friends” reunion. Was it any good? It just seemed to me like a sad attempt at grabbing cash for the six out of six cast members who really haven’t had a career worth mentioning since 2004. But, I’m a cynic who has been wrong before. Only once, but still. Is there anything redeeming in the reunion special?

– Won’t Be There For You

Dear Janice,

Boy howdy, are we ever in a nostalgic mood today. We’ve got everything from the ’80s to whatever we called the 2000s. Can we get a shout out for the ’70s? Maybe some “Starsky and Hutch” retrospective action? Or dip into the ’60s with a little of “The Graduate: The Sequel,” where Dustin Hoffman seduces a much younger student in a role reversal-slash-cash grab for the ages. But I still won’t watch it because how many streaming services can one person subscribe to, anyway?

– The one where we give up, Rachel

Dear Rachel,

My much younger cousin just taught me about the advent of the most magical invention, full stop. Better than running water or electricity or the internet. She calls them “period panties.” Bet you can guess the rest from there. Sing it to the tune of Pink Floyd: “No more tampons, no more pads.” She swears she can dance in white pants and all is well. It’s enough to make me almost wish I could have my period again. Have you heard of these, Rachel? Are they an urban myth, or are they real?

– Full Stop

Dear Catch-All,

Where can I invest??? If this accoutrement is as good as your cousin promises, this will cut the string that ties us women down. I looked it up because of course, and if the reviewers are real red-blooded American women and not cold algorithmic bots, this is certainly the greatest contribution to the world since “The Breakfast Club.” (And I hereby nominate myself as the face of Period Panties. So long as we can still use Jennifer Aniston’s face. It’s a better gig than reunion specials.)

– Free and clear, Rachel