A lot of people have been getting their knickers in a tizzy lately over the military's new plan to pair female soldiers with male chaperones. Well, I'd like to take this opportunity to weigh in on the matter with a true story about my own chaperone, Raymond, who has been accompanying me plum-near everywhere for the past five years. I hope it will make those of you out there taking offense at the armys decision to see its value. Raymond and I were down to the dock about three weeks back soaking our feet in the bayou when out of nowhere a rabid raccoon descended upon us. (Now, I just thank my lucky stars that I hadn't wheeled my son Charlie down there, because he tends to attract critters since he drinks all that fruit juice and they can smell the sugar on his skin.) There this raccoon was, slinking around the other end of the dock wild-eyed and foaming at the mouth. Raymond and I had absolutely no which way to go. The only way to avoid a run-in raccoon would have been to jump in the bayou, an option neither of us relished. (Regular readers of this blog will remember what happened to Mrs. Sloane's donkey.) I was shaking like a leaf, but Raymond didn't miss a stitch. He simply pulled out his cell phone...and pelted the raccoon with it. See, Raymond was a quarterback in college, so he's nothin' but muscle. That cell phone hit the raccoon like a meteor, knocking it down dead and saving us both. The moral here is, ladies, if you can swing it, get yourself a chocolately, rock-hard chaperone. He may one day save you from a rabid raccoon! 