Why I Could Never Be an Advice Columnist
OK so I don’t generally read advice columns. My one exception is Salon’s ‘Since you Asked‘ column with Cary Tennis, as his writers seem above average intelligence, with problems which are complex and often somewhat existential. His writers need more than regular advice, they need advice about stillness and the color red.
But today I accidentally read Dear Abby.
Oh my holy goodness.
So here’s why I could never be an advice columnist. I could never be an advice columnist because each time my response to the advice-seeker would be “Are you fucking crazy?”
HUSBAND REMAINS IN THE DARK ABOUT WIFE’S NIGHTTIME VISITOR – Yahoo! News
DEAR ABBY: I am 27, and my wife, “Marybeth,” is 26. We recently went to my folks’ house for supper. That evening a heavy snowstorm was starting and, because the trip home is 30 miles, we decided to stay overnight.
My old bedroom is upstairs, as are the rooms of my brothers, ages 25, 24 and 22. The guest room is downstairs. Because the room is quite small, and Marybeth said she felt a cold coming on, we decided I’d sleep in my old room.The next day, while we were driving home, Marybeth told me she was glad I had come to her room after all and made love to her.
Abby, it wasn’t me! She had mistaken one of my brothers for me in the darkness. We are all about the same size and build.
I have talked to each of my brothers (they all know about this), but they won’t say who it was for fear of causing a rift between the guilty party and me. I told them that unless I find out who it was, there will be a permanent rift between all of us. (Marybeth still doesn’t know it wasn’t me.)
How do I handle this? — ENRAGED IN ROCHESTER, N.Y.
Seriously. Are you fucking crazy?
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Second, rarely does content on your blog leave me with my mouth agape. You could have flown a B-52 (the plane, not band member) down my throat.