Dear E. Jean: I'm twenty-five, five foot one, and weigh between 98 and 100 pounds. For the last seven years I've made it my lifestyle to workout regularly and eat healthy in order to look the way I do.

But to the point: I can't get rid of the fat and cellulite on my rump. It makes me very self-conscious when I walk; even though clothes hide it, I know it's there. I think if I got rid of it by having surgery, I'd feel better about myself. My boyfriend says he'll stand behind whatever I decide and he'll love me either way. He even agreed that for as hard as I workout and as small as I am, I do have fat on my rump that won't budge. I guess it's hereditary. Do you think this is a good reason to have lipo or am I being selfish and shallow? ----Self-Conscious

Dear Self: Selfish? Shallow? Ye Goddess, honey, you'd be making a total ass of yourself if you didn't do it. As you say, you'll "feel better," not to mention that your fanny will be shrunk down tighter and leaner than two bouncing soccer balls. However, liposuction will not remove cellulite. Nothing (though doctors may be close to discovering a surgical method) can remove those filthy little dimple bags----indeed, not even the ASK E. JEAN GIANT LEACH THERAPY (I fly to your house and attach huge forty- pound leaches to the backs of your thighs), or the SPECIAL ASK E. JEAN LEG BLAZE (I drive to your house in a Exxon tanker truck, pour gasoline on all four of our thighs and set fire to them with my zippo) will cure cellulite.

My friend just had her derriere done and I must say, she looks delectable. But she first spoke with several women who had the operation so she knew what to expect, and then she interviewed the three best doctors. She also said it hurt like the very dickens. So be prepared. And Good Luck!

Dear E. Jean: I moved away from home in my 20's and was promiscuous and accepted money from men three times. When I moved back in with my parents at age 28 (I was broke), it bore down on my conscience a great deal and I told them.

Then my parents told every one I was "a whore." That was twelve years ago. Today I waved at a young single man in our church and he didn't acknowledge me. His friend asked him why he didn't wave at me. He just replied, "she's a whore."

I resent this! There is more to me than what I did in my twenties! I've gone back to college and have made straight A's. I support a little boy in Columbia through ChildReach. I donated money to Jenny the Elephant when she was very sick at the Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee. I volunteer for the Clean Air Foundation. I am an excellent cook. I knit sweaters and sell them. There is so much more to me, you see?

I have been going to this church for twelve years, yet everyone there still regards me as "a whore." What can I do to live this down? People are so close-minded. I feel very lonely. I can't afford to live alone again. Anyway, I don't want to live alone. What should I do? -----Sincerely, A New Person.

Dearest New: My friend, I'm proud of you. You've brought a gentle human magic to your little town---but how can I tell you what I have to tell you without giving you more pain? Darling, if Jenny the Elephant was moved to a new zoo in (say) Toledo, Ohio, and everybody in Toledo called Jenny bad names and shouted filthy things at her, you would want to move Jenny to another town, wouldn't you?

Well, sweet New . . . The same goes for you. Because you could save a thousand little boys Columbia and personally manufacture clean air all over the Southern Hemisphere and knit a sweater for every single human carcass on God's planet, and, darling, those odious rubes would still make you as unhappy as possible. You'll never be as alone as you are right now in that awful place. GO, gentle New! Freedom, love, dignity, and the whole messy world awaits you!

Dear E. Jean: I'm a writer, as yet unpublished; but I'm a writer by blood, bone and nature. I'm presently working on several projects, one of which I consider to be my "starmaker," the book that will launch me to the bestseller heavens. However, I procrastinate, I loaf, I let my completed works gather dust on the shelves.

Why? My psychic said "because you're afraid to succeed." True, perhaps; but my every waking moment is consumed by imaginings of how I'll handle the book tours, what I'll wear on Letterman, etc. I know beyond all doubt that this is my destiny. So why do I dither so?

My husband has remarked more than once that he's afraid I'll leave him when I'm rich (or famous), a confession which left me feeling that he can read my mind. We've been together for five years and have an excellent relationship. The sex gets better, I'm more grounded in myself than ever before, yet I fear that my longing for a new, free, single life will eclipse my desire to remain married. I'm loathe to hurt him or prove him right, but if I have to spend another penniless year in retail, I'll throw myself in front of the next outbound train.

This isn't a choice between him or me, is it? I think if I had everything I wanted, I'd go hog-wild. How can I make peace with my ambition? How can I know that doing for myself won't do him in?----Brilliant Author

Dear Brilliant: Blast your husband! Pick your best manuscript, turn the goddamned thing in, and write to me when you're actually on the best seller list. And then we'll know what to do.

P.S. Meanwhile, get rid of that nutball psychic.

Dear E. Jean: What's the matter with me? I'm twenty-two, I like men, I work with men, I have many male friends. I just can't seem to find a man to fall in love with. Am I a hopeless case? Or just too picky?---Disturbed in Des Moines

My Darling Disturbed: Thunderation! You're supposed to be picky, you silly baggage. If you weren't, a gang of dorkheads would be loping through your house right now, eating your Haagan Daz and snapping your brassiere.

Dear E. Jean: I've done something really stupid. I totally fell in love with John Kennedy. And I never even met him. It's a weird story, but here it is:

I've been married for four years to an emotionally distant man, who really doesn't have a clue. After a year and a half of marriage, we started fertility treatments---the hormones, the waiting, the disappointment. I felt I was giving up my whole life. That's when I began having wonderful fantasies about JFK. The fantasies turned into a daily life style. I was able to withstand hours of silence from my husband or tumultuous changes at work by "being with" my best friend, lover, confidante and admirer: you know who.

I never even realized I had a problem until I heard that he got married. Now, E. Jean, I'm a mature, responsible female, I am in charge of hundreds of employees at work, I keep up with family and friends. But when I found out about the marriage, I lost it. How could this happen? I can't seem to focus. My strength came from this imaginary relationship. It got me through two miscarriages, two surgeries, and a breast biopsy. John's helped me so much and now I don't know where to go. And worst of all, I miss him. I'm so happy for his big step, but my whole foundation is crashing. What do I do now.----Crazy.

My dearest, dearest Crazy: Darling, John Kennedy Jr. is a god (and Old E. Jean is ready to show him a good time if he cares to write in). Fantasy life helps shield us from the cruelties of reality; but it wasn't John Kennedy who got you through your surgeries and your terrible miscarriages (dear, I'm so sorry to hear of them); it wasn't your "imaginary relationship" that allowed you to "withstand hours of silence from (your) husband;" no----it was your own strong, right, true, rambunctious grit. You're chock full of it.

So, stop fretting. The only women who have a problem are the idiotic chits who don't fantasize about JFK. Indeed, John Kennedy embodies the age-old human myths of Virility, Beauty and Hope. What joys he brings you---only you can say; but take careful note of them. Write them down . . . as if it's possible to capture love and adventure on paper! but try. Because you can re-enter your "real" life by acting out one little dream at a time, with a slightly different twist----ie, you could run off to the beach with your own husband, or save a homeless dog, or adopt a child, or clamp on your roller blades and zaaaaappp around town till you smell like burning rubber----the point is to commit to something outside your own head.

And it probably wouldn't hurt to throw in a session or two of couples counselling----you and your husband should learn to talk to each other. And now let us raise a margarita to John and Carolyn. Long may they love and prosper! And live happily ever after!

Dear E. Jean: Have you read this book, "The Rules?" It's gotten a lot of press lately. I think that a woman who follows these rules is going to die lonely because she can't speak to a guy she likes until he speaks to her. It reminds me of children not being allowed to speak. What do you think?----Not a Rules Girl.

My Divine Not: As it so happens, I've just been sent a copy of "The Rules" and I'm just reading it this very minute....Well!.....Huh!...........Geez!.......... .......................... ...................(Editor's Note: Regretfully, E. Jean can not continue at this time. All the oxygen has been sucked out of her brain due to her immoderate screaming.)