you put what where?!

BY WHITNEY COLLINS

errant parent strives to give its readers useful parenting tools. So, for those of you looking for ways to answer your tween's most delicate question ever, we present the facts of life, as described by various TV personalities. Think of it as sex education, courtesy of the boob tube.

Rose Nylund, The Golden Girls

Back in St. Olaf, we didn't call it the facts of life. Or the birds and the bees. No, we called it the "Mazurka," which was a nothing more than a suggestive Scandinavian folk dance that always began with a buffet of pickled herring and resulted in a few dozen unplanned pregnancies. Shoot, in St. Olaf, the only birth control we knew of was a pair of orthopedic shoes and a bad case of halitosis. Any girl who carried a roll of Certs was considered a prostitute! Maybe that explains how I got stuck with five children. And how my husband ended up dying of a heart attack during the act. Oh, sweet sassafras. Those were fun times.

Tony Soprano, The Sopranos

So, you gots a cannoli and you gots a tortellini. In an ideal scenario, the cannoli's pretty big and the tortellini's pretty small. But don't be too particular about these things. It can be a Puerto Rican tortellini or a Polish tortellini, even an Irish tortellini for all I care, as long as it's not your wife's tortellini.

At the motel, you might want to put on some Journey and pour a couple of limoncello shots. It's also a gentlemanly gesture to make sure your pistol has its safety on. If it's a leggy Russian tortellini you're entertaining, and you're looking for things to last a little longer than your garden variety drive-by, be sure to distract yourself during foreplay. Think about that shit-for-brains bear that keeps swimming in your pool. Or that time your mother almost burned down her house sauteing goddamned mushrooms.

Afterward, give the lady a little something nice -- like a hot diamond brooch or a bootleg flat screen. You know, just to shut her up. The next day, after the whole bada-boom bada-bing, you may be tempted to tell your shrink about what took place. Resist this urge by suffocating your nephew.

Martha Stewart, The Martha Stewart Show

I've only participated in such tomfoolery once -- when my daughter Alexis was conceived. So, let's not mince words. Assuming the man and woman are both fertile, he inserts his penis into her vagina, ejaculates during ovulation, and forty weeks later, a baby. Personally, I'd rather spend the better part of a summer evening heavy petting my Chow Chow.

Now, you want a complicated recipe? Let's see somebody whip up a gruyere souffle for the Royal Family without crying. Blindfolded with a handwoven silk scarf. And not a drop of egg on the ramekins, you hear me? Hop to it, you horny heathens!

Sig Hansen, Deadliest Catch

Sex is a lot like fishing. You never know if you're going to get big crabs, little crabs, or no crabs at all. But, you just keep trying to lure them in with a decapitated cod. Or in the case of a woman, a chicken finger salad with ranch on the side and the promise of a new Jacuzzi after opilio season.

Michael Scott, The Office

Sheesh. Let's see how to explain this. If I remember, it's pretty complicated. I think there were four of them. A fat one, a black one, a really hot one, and a tomboy. Natalie. Tootsie, maybe? Blair? Jo? Yeah, Jo. I think she drove a tow truck. Hey-o! Lesbian alert! Whoop whoop whoop! Somebody call HR!

Anyway. There was some old broad named Mrs. Garrett who looked after them. I think it was an orphanage, but I don't remember any of them ever getting adopted. And sometimes they overlapped with that inner city series. What's Happening? Good Times? No...Mama's Family. That's right. It's coming back to me now.

And...what's that? What did you say? Not the television show but the -- oh, boy! Hoo wee! Embarrassing! Who's the idiot now? Well. Ahem. How to phrase this? It's simple really. You have a man and you have a woman. And they typically work in the same office. And then they go to Chili's for a couple of coladas, capped off by a round or two of karaoke. The next thing you know you're fumbling around with her bra in the back of a Sebring and she's whacking you over the head with her purse. I mean a full-on bludgeoning. Or maybe calling the cops. Hel-lo! How's that for a performance review? Check, please!

(That's what she said.)

Whitney Collins learned about the facts of life from Jack Tripper. She can be reached at: whitneycollins@mac.com.