Oh, Winter, you are such a sad season. You make the birds flee and the green things die. Sometimes your icy grasp extends to hard-drinking shampoo salesmen and they become too lethargic to write advice columns. Their hearts of gold freeze over and crack. Where is Robert? Will he ever write again? Please, send us your questions. The more questions we collect, the better chance we have of dragging him away from his bottle of jager.