The new, improved Sunday Night Sex Show

I've loved sex educator Sue Johansen for years. She may look like a sweet little grandmother, but she's completely at ease saying the words "vaginal farts". But it occurs to me that, top-quality infotainment that it is, The Sunday Night Sex Show would be infinitely more amusing if she were just your average sweet little grandmother who's uncomfortable talking about these things.

Imagine if, week after week, the show simply consisted of some little old lady stuck behind a desk for a long, torturous hour of being mortified by the callers' inquiries. Imagine the poor old dear stammering and blushing as she struggled to listen to graphic descriptions of STD symptoms and to field questions on filthy sexual perversions she'd never even dreamed existed.

"How can I get my girlfriend to use a strap-on on me?" a caller would ask.

"Oh my goodness!" she'd blurt, turning red. "I-- I ... oh, dear."

Sometimes she'd have to leaf through a medical book to look for an answer, and then she'd read it, flush, cover her mouth with her hands, and be too agog with horror to speak.

It'd be infinitely less informative, but way more entertaining.