I had to make a pretty big decision and it kept me up all night. I literally made myself sick trying to figure out what to do. It was one of those major life decisions that forced me to reassess my concepts of who I am and what I want to be; the person I was several years ago versus the person I am now; core belief pitted in a death struggle against core belief.

When my wife got out of bed the next morning I was hovering over my trillionth cup of tea and staring wildly at the wall.

"So, what're you going to do?" my wife asked.

"It's not as simple as that," I said. "This is going to take some time. Maybe I should call in sick to work -- take the rest of the week off and go somewhere, out to the wilderness, to really figure this out."

"Hmm. Here's what I'd do ... " she said. And in a single breath she delivered the advice that long drives, walking, alcohol, sleep deprivation, pacing, tea, and Llynyrd Skynyrd (I listen to "Freebird" when I'm stressed) had failed to produce. She gave me better advice than I could ever give myself.

I have said before that I am lucky to have married someone who is so utterly more intelligent than I am. I am sorry to say that I simply do not have the capacity to reciprocate.

Fortunately, women rarely actually want advice from men.

Bill Cosby once said that wives do not want their husband's opinion, they simply want to hear their own opinion repeated in a deeper voice. And I have learned that when my wife has not yet made a decision, it is in my best interest not to offer one.

"You're not supposed to tell me what to do," she told me recently.

"But you said you didn't know what to do. I was helping," I said.

"You just don't get it, do you?" my wife said.

Clearly not.

Even if I did get it, and understood when and when not to offer advice, my advice wouldn't really be all that good.

I know a guy whose answer to everything is: "You need to drink more." My advice is better than that, but only slightly. I feel this is important to mention, because I have noticed that the other columnists who occupy this spot are fond of offering quality advice (you'll notice, coincidentally, that those columnists are women). Some of it is downright useful.

I want to stress that anything I might tell people could very well land them in jail, or the hospital, or the jail's hospital. I probably would have invested in Enron, if it weren't for the fact that I spend all my money on beer.

Indeed, my friend often claims that the best advice he can think of is, to listen to my advice and do pretty much the exact opposite.

But, as I say, every other columnist seems to be dispensing advice, so I can't help but jump on the bandwagon. Here's a bit of my wisdom on how to make your life better.

Gambling is an economically viable alternative to the 9-to-5 grind. I suggest investing several thousand dollars in picking next year's Super Bowl, in which the Minnesota Vikings will beat the San Diego Chargers, 83-5.

With all the money you earn, you can buy a new car. Chicks dig nice cars, fellas. Nice cars will overshadow any and all of your character flaws. Depending on your age group, you should buy:

• A Japanese import that rides 2.5 inches from the ground, and has a comically huge spoiler and $10,000 sound system.
• A convertible Ford Mustang with a $20,000 sound system.
• A Land Rover with an $8,000 factory-installed ski rack that you never use.

You should also change your image. Chewing tobacco is sexy. Nothing says, "Tonight's the night for love," like a mouth full of Skoal. Just be sure to let me know how it turns out.

As for that gut-wrenching decision -- I decided not buy light beer, even if it is only $8.99 a case.

Chris Cope is married, with no children. His column appears every other Tuesday.