Here’s an interesting situation: a letter from each side of a dispute.
Hers:
“Mon cher Médecin du Toit:
“I am the girlfriend of a famous English footballer, but mon Dieu! he gives me beaucoup de mals de tête, because he is always flirting and making the love with other women. And when I argue with him and tell him to stop the affaires, he gets tout à fait angry with me.
“Not long ago, en fait, he actually made me leave his chambre à hotel because I was réprimanding him for kissing another woman right in front of me, and showing me no respect!
“I give to him myself and everything he wants of me, yet it seems to be not enough.
“Monsieur le médecin, que faire?”
— Une femme derangée, Paris
Dear Deranged:
Let me get this straight: you get involved with a young, rich and successful footballer, and you expect him to treat you properly? You didn’t mention his ethnic group / race, but I don’t need to know that because from experience, his kind behaves more or less the same, regardless of race or background. (Your own countryman David Ginola was, in his time, no different from your guy, and he only “settled down” after he retired from football and, well, grew up.)
There is no easy answer to this problem. You were attracted to this guy for — let’s face it — his body, fame and fortune (in no specific order). If he hadn’t had any of those, you wouldn’t have given him a second glance. Unfortunately, those same attributes make it difficult for him to treat you “properly” because — let’s face it again — there are lots of women like you, and faced with that smorgasbord, very few men of that type are going to remain celibate let alone faithful for long.
You’ve made your choice, so there it is: live with it, or leave it. Jeff Bezos is already taken, so short of getting a job in telemarketing or food service, your options are to go with a less famous but equally-rich guy, but beware: the competition for them is even greater than for footballers who are, to be honest, a euro a dozen and if I may be… franc, you’re not that special.
Bonne chance.
— 
And from the other half of this relationship:
“Yo Doctor, whatever:
“My main woman is batshit crazy, and no matter how much loot ‘n jewels ‘n stuff I give her, she’s always complaining. I know I don’t always behave well, but you know? when you’re earning over fifty grand a week, you always gotta prove to the Guvnor that you’re worth it, and that’s like stressful. So yeah, sometimes I get a little outta control, but I have to do it to keep my balance going, yeah?
“Also, last season I scored like seventeen goals, and this year only three, so like people are wondering if it’s all over for me, yeah? And I’m not even an old man of thirty yet, and I might not get picked for England again because I “party too hard” or some shit. Know what that does to my head, right?
“And then when I get home or to my hotel room or whatever, my girl gets on my case because I did like twenty tequilas and kissed some bitch who stuck her mouth into my face.
“So I’m getting shit at the club, the newspapers think I’m some kind of degenerate, and my main squeeze thinks I’m seven kinds of arsehole.
“Doctor, what can I do, man?”
— Football God
Dear Godless,
If you think life is tough now, just wait until your career is over, your health has gone down the drain and the only relationship you have with women is through child support cheques.
I don’t blame you, though: I blame the fact that people with questionable skills (sportsmen, actors etc.) are overpaid and start thinking that a) the gravy train will last forever and that b) they are immortal and nobody can tell them what to do.
My advice is to read — I know, read? — something called “The Gods Of The Copybook Headings“, and have it all explained to you by someone with a little more than the O-levels you clearly missed out on.
Perhaps then you’ll stop acting like an overindulged child, but I doubt it. Oh, and don’t expect your French girlfriend to put up with you forever — Frog chicks can be pretty tough about this kind of thing, and you’re fortunate that she hasn’t shot you dead or poisoned your breakfast cereal, yet. Remember that she too has options; only they’re not footballers but rich older men who want and will pay, a lot more than you are, for whatever it is she’s selling.
I’d wish you good luck, but you’ve already had that (football talent, youth and a club scout who spotted you earlier on), and you’re pissing it all away instead of going on your knees every day and thanking God for it. So: have fun with whatever remains of your worthless life.
—