The electricity crisis, the gas shortage and the recent terrorist attacks are all important issues that I would like to discuss in a serious and thought-provoking manner. But first, I want to talk about the season premier of “”Friends.””

For the record, I would like to state that I do not watch this show because of its pop culture subject matter, or because I like to live vicariously through the relationships of overly skinny people.

When I watch “”Friends,”” I do so for its intellectual and provocative content, such as what it really means to be “”on a break.”” Plus, I think Matthew Perry is kinda cute.

Anyway, as everyone and her mother knows by now, Rachel — the ditzy blonde who isn’t Phoebe — is officially pregnant and intends to keep the baby.

But Monica, the brunette with obsessive compulsive disorder, raised an interesting question: “”How, in this day and age, could a woman possibly get pregnant by accident?”” In other words: How could you be such a dumbass?

I have always been a major fan of birth control. Even before I knew how babies were made, I was actively endorsing contraceptives at my parents’ dinner parties.

No, I’m serious.

Yes, there was a time when my parents were actually real people who had real friends who liked to eat together. Those days are, of course, long gone; my parents have since transformed into Old People, who are not really members of the human race at all.

I distinctly remember one dinner party my parents had with a young couple whom we shall call “”Bob”” and “”Mary”” for the sake of anonymity (their names are really Jake and Susan).

Bob and Mary had recently gotten married and were very much in love, so my parents decided that it would be best to banish me to my bedroom so they would remain that way.

With promises of ice cream in the morning if I stayed out of the living room, I was ushered out of the presence of the two guests. But was I going to stay in my room? Hell no, not a little social butterfly like me.

So after about 10 minutes I flittered (yes, flittered) into the living room and plopped myself right smack-dab in the center of the couch, a spot that coincidentally also happened to be between Bob and Mary.

Now, I think I should take a moment here to talk about my pajamas. I may have the fashion sense of a wombat, but I know my PJs, and when I was 4 years old, I had the coolest ones in the world. They were the kind that has a zipper from your neck to your hips. Of course, the best part was that they came with the feet already attached. You just stepped into them, zipped them up and you were good to go, baby. God, those were cool.

So there I was, sitting next to Bob and Mary (whose names, keep in mind, are really Jake and Susan), with my pajama-covered feet dangling over the side of the couch. It was clear that my neighbors were very uncomfortable in my presence, especially since they were holding liquor.

But Bob, being the good sport that he was (and probably a little tipsy), decided to make the best of the situation and attempted to establish communication.

Our conversation went something like this:

Bob (gripping his wine glass like there was no tomorrow): Um, hello there.

Me (smiling adorably): Hi!

Bob (searching desperately for a conversation topic): So — those are great pajamas you have there.

Me (so pleased he had noticed!): Yes, I know.

(At this point, I tried not to get too excited, because it was clear that Bob did not own PJs this cool, and it would be rude to flaunt mine in his face. I was a very well-mannered child.)

Me (trying to make Bob feel better about his pajamaless status): But you know, sometimes they aren’t that great.

Bob (by now incredibly fascinated with me — he wanted to adopt me, I could tell): Oh? Why is that? (He smiled at Mary — what a wonderful father he will make, he is thinking!)

Me (leaning in close and whispering solemnly): Because sometimes, when I zip them up, the zipper gets caught in my vagina, and it really hurts.

Bob was understandably quite taken aback by this information, since he no doubt considered my PJs to be immaculate symbols of perfection.

I’d also like to think that he was rather impressed with the fact that a 4-year-old was able to use the term “”vagina”” correctly.

Bob stared at Mary in horror, who stared back in equal shock.

Then, quite suddenly, Bob and Mary had to go, due to “”prior engagements”” they had suddenly remembered.

I don’t remember the details, but Bob and Mary never came over to our house for dinner again.

According to the sources of my parents, the couple never had children. For some reason, I think they just felt that they weren’t ready for kids.

You see, even at the tender age of 4, I was a walking advertisement for birth control. Had Rachel realized what a tricky thing pajamas can be, I think the plot of “”Friends”” would have gone a bit differently.

So basically, I tricked you into reading this entire thing with my little introduction about “”Friends.”” Let that be a lesson to you: Never trust a woman who wears pajamas with feet.