By AMY ALKON

My boyfriend of two months is a gem, but his house is a horror. The fridge and bathroom are disgusting, and the whole place is seriously messy. There’s this eerie feeling that the house was formerly homey, like nothing has changed since his wife left him three years ago -- down to the box of sanitary pads in the bathroom cupboard and the very wife-ish folksy kitchen art everywhere. I wonder if the state of things reflects some inner devastation he’s feeling post-divorce. He takes pride in his home’s exterior, meticulously maintaining his lawn, and I don’t think he’s trying to impress the neighbors (not a pretentious bone in his body). He hadn’t changed his sheets in our two months together, so I removed the pillowcases and dropped them on the floor as a hint. He didn’t get it. It seems too early in the relationship to say anything. Still, I don’t feel I should have to keep faking that I’m comfy in his home and in his bed on sheets that feel like they haven’t been washed since the 1980s. 

— Yuck

A woman can leave a man, but apparently, cows grazing on a field of gingham and “Rooster Crossing” signs are forever. And of course, nothing says a man’s open to a relationship like his ex-wife’s 3-year-old box of Kotex. 

Welcome to the Museum of the Ex-Wife. At least, that’s how you’re seeing it, and that’s understandable. In trying to make sense of things, people have a tendency to look for some underlying deep meaning. And, sure, maybe the biohazards and lingering Kountry Kitchen Kwaintness are reflective of some inner darkness on his part (depression, inability to cope with his loss and move on). Or…maybe it was his job to care for the outside of the house and hers to care for the inside, and after she left, he never thought to fill in the blanks on the chore wheel. Before long, the place became Home Sweet Bacteria Rodeo.

If you don’t see other signs suggesting he’s depressed or troubled, he’s probably just mess-blind. It’s hard for those who practice what would be considered ordinary tidiness and house hygiene to understand, but for some, all the chaos and grunge just blends into a big, benign whatever. The basic rule of this sort of laissez-faire housekeeping: If the crud isn’t so big and scary that it’s grabbing your ankle as you’re en route to the toilet, why get your last pair of clean underwear into a wad? 

It is cute that you thought dropping stuff on the floor -- the floor of a man who basically lives in a two-bedroom landfill -- would have an impact on his housekeeping standards. You should actually consider it a bit troubling that he apparently made no attempt to tidy up for you. Even the most squalor-inured tend to look at their living situation through new (and horrified) eyes when a new romantic partner is coming over and try to do something -- get a backhoe in there, burn the bedding, crash a Febreze truck into the living room. 

I’m not suggesting you go all Joan Crawford on the man (“NO. MORE. WIRE. HANGERS!”), but you can’t let him think it’s no big deal for you to get in bed onto sheets that feel like they haven’t been washed since the Reagan administration. (If you put out a message that anything goes for you, whether in the housekeeping department or any other, very likely, anything will.)

Don’t be pulling on any rubber gloves, either. (Start cleaning up after him and you’ll keep cleaning up after him.) Instead, say something gentle but direct like “I think you’re a great guy, but I really need you to clean your place so I feel comfortable there.” There is a chance that he’ll break up with you over this. But, what kind of man kicks the girl out of bed and keeps the cracker crumbs?

Instead of trying to get him to clean up his whole act at once, take things step by grody step. Whatever effort he makes, keep letting him know you appreciate it. If the house isn’t getting to a civilized level of clean, gently suggest that it needs a woman’s touch — a cleaning woman’s: “Ever thought of getting a maid once a month?” Finally, address the ex-wife’s leftovers by joking that some of the decor doesn’t quite seem a reflection of him. In fact, you’re particularly confused by the box in the bathroom cabinet, but you’d like to be supportive: “A man’s first period is a very special time, and there’s no reason to feel ashamed about the changes in your body, which should soon have you turning cartwheels in a flowing white skirt.”

Wedding her whistle

I just turned 26, and I’m ready to be married. My previous two boyfriends dragged their feet and then said the blood-boiling line: “I will marry you…someday.” I met a guy online, and we initiated a relationship on the basis that he was ready for marriage. Four months after our first kiss, I broke up with him after he, too, expressed hesitation about marriage. He insisted that he loves me but is hesitating because I have a drinking problem and PMDD (premenstrual dysphoric disorder). Once a month, I take everything that I love and tear it to shreds -- as if in a werewolf state. I come to, devastated by my actions. I need structure and commitment from a loving partner for strength, and an engagement now would help me transcend my conditions. He wants me to do it alone and wants to see improvement before he commits. I want to make him realize how cruel he was in insisting in his profile that he was ready for marriage and not following through. 

-— Unwed

You’re a fierce advocate of truth in advertising — except when you’re the one engaging in the sins of omission: “I’m ready to be married. Oh, also, once a month, I’ll try to rip out your internal organs with a shrimp fork. Any takers?”

Typically, when a man is ready for marriage, he’s looking to settle down with the right woman, not sprint to the altar with the first woman he meets who can fit into a size 8 long white dress. If marriage actually were a cure for alcoholism, people in AA would have florists instead of sponsors, and church basements would be packed with brides tearfully confessing to being powerless before a $10,000 wedding cake that releases a flock of white doves. 

You likewise don’t marry a guy because your hormones turn you into a werewolf once a month and you need somebody to bolt the exits so no sheep or cattle go missing. Per psychiatrist Dr. Emily Deans in one of my previous columns, biochemical options for dialing down turbo PMS include the 24-day or three-month birth control pill; the antidepressant bupropion; magnesium malate supplementation (500 milligrams at bedtime); and cycling from a low-carb diet to a higher-carb, low-protein diet three days to a week before your period starts.

At the moment, you’re married to escaping your problems. Addiction treatment specialist Dr. Frederick Woolverton writes in his very helpful book, “Unhooked,” that at the heart of any addiction is avoidance of suffering. Instead of feeling uncomfortable feelings and dealing with them, you hold their little heads down and drown them in a pond of cheap gin. And instead of doing the grown-up thing and working to overcome your addiction, you decide that the “power greater than yourself” will be the groom. But, only when you don’t need a man to feel whole are you healthy enough to choose one for the right reasons. Then you see, over time (a year, at the very least), whether you and he make sense together. Marriage is a lifetime commitment, not a lifeboat to rescue you from your troubles already in progress: “Do you take this woman…to have and to hold, and to hold her hair back as she’s driving the porcelain bus? Okay then! You may now detox the bride!”

Youth is fleeing

My friend is constantly dragging me to parties to be her wing woman. She’s in her late 40s, but hits on hot young guys in their early 20s who never reciprocate interest. Guys her age or older approach her, but she blows them off. I’m sick of these depressing evenings and of accompanying her to the mall so she can get “hipper clothes.” Is there a kind way to tell her she needs to rethink who she’s pursuing?

— Frustrated

How uplifting, spending your weekends watching Generation Y getting hit on by Generation Why Are You At This Party? Of course you want to clue in your friend, “You could wear head-to-toe Forever 21, and you’d still look 49 and counting.” And you could gently suggest she expand her dating horizons to include men who are actual possibilities. But her persistence in the face of failure suggests she’s pretty attached to believing that the answer to her datelessness can be found at the mall. What you can control is how you spend your time. Extending yourself to make a friend happy is nice; subjecting yourself to regular misery is too nice and leads to bubbling resentment. The next time she tries to drag you along, tell her you’re party-weary and tired of the mall…but how about lunch or a hike? Granted, out on the trail, you could still witness the uncomfortable sight of a cougar stalking its prey — but not by changing out of its mom jeans.

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Got a problem? Write Amy Alkon, 171 Pier Ave, #280, Santa Monica, CA  90405, or e-mail This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it (www.advicegoddess.com)

Amy Alkon’s just-published book: “I SEE RUDE PEOPLE: One woman’s battle to beat some manners into impolite society” (McGraw-Hill, $16.95).