Hey there shippers! How in the hell are ya on this fine, fine, chilly, winter, gettin'-ready-for-Christmas, Prudie Day?! I hope that all's well, that you're all warm, happy, and, too, around loved ones. As for me, I had a great Thanksgiving and am looking mightily forward to Christmas and then the New Year! But, prior to that, we've got business to attend to, yes? So, without further ado, let's get crackin'!
LW#1: Dear Prudie, I live with my boyfriend in a pretty nice house. Ah, who am I kidding? This place is great! I mean, we are living large, Prudie! We worked hard in college and are now enjoying the fruits of our labor. Our friends, well, they weren't so career ambitious. And, too, they ignorantly chose fields that were affected by the economy. As a result, we're rich and they're not. But that's okay, because we really like them still! Honest! We're always really careful not to insult their paltry budgets, and we always suggest doing stuff with them that they can afford. When we want to be extravagant, we always do so away from them so they don't have to feel bad. And we only rarely share pictures and stories afterwards.
Anyway, that's not so much the problem as our housekeeper. She sucks (matter of fact, she hasn't even gone to college--I know, right?!). And, we want to replace her. Well, without asking me, my boyfriend asked a couple of our hard luck friends if they wanted to be our housekeepers. They, of course, said they wanted to! Well, I don't like it, Prudie. Friends and money don't mix, and the combination could be disastrous. I want to do the right thing, and my boyfriend says it's my call, but I feel really awkward about telling our friends they can't clean our house. What can I do? Signed, I've Got Friends In Low Places
Well, I'll be buggered. This is a first. I really, really, really, want to just rip you a new asshole, you entitl... littl... fuck... bitc... But.I.can't. As much as I hate your superior, judgmental attitude, you obviously come by it naturally. And, fact is, your question and concern is actually reasonable. It's the peripheral, bullshit info that you keep dropping in that's pissing me off. Not the question itself. So, as for the question, you're correct. This has the potential to end badly and you probably shouldn't do it. I'd say that you should do as Prudie suggests. Have your boyfriend tell your friends that he's sorry, but, he didn't realize that you'd already hired someone. And, too, that he hadn't even asked you first and that, even though it sort of looks like a win-win, it probably wouldn't end well, and that you guys value their friendship too much for that. Then, you entitled little bitch, buy some fucking lobster and steaks and invite them over to your place for dinner. And don't worry, I have a feeling that they won't be your friends for much longer anyway, and then they can work for you all you want. Friends in low places, my...fuckin...
LW#2: Dear Prudie, Over the last several months, several folks in my office (including me) have had food stolen out of the common refrigerator. Out of our lunch boxes even! Sometimes entire meals?! Well, recently, one of my co-workers caught the thief red-handed. Not only was it a high-level executive (isn't it always, those entitled bastards/bitches), but, it was a good friend of mine. A lady with whom I spend a great deal of time away from the office. I don't know how to handle this, Prudie. What should I do? Well, you've come to the right place, chicky doodle. It's like this: friends don't let friends drive drunk, right? Friends tell one another when there's spinach stuck in their front teeth, or when there's toilet paper trailing from their skirt, right? Well, friends also say, "Marsha, what the fuck were you thinking?! I know good and well that you only pinched that one yogurt that one time (try to seem like you really mean that part), but you know good and well that there's been someone stealing from us for months! If someone actually thought it was you that was doing it all this time, it could lead to you getting fired! I just hope people don't think that already. You need have about twenty pizzas delivered and then never go near that break room again!" And then, after that, if it was me? I'd keep my lunch in my desk.
LW#3: Dear Prudie, I'm not a germaphobe. Honest. But, I do sit in the bathroom stall at work and listen to people pee and poo and then I listen to make sure they wipe at least three times (that liberal Sheryl Crow and her one square of toilet paper plan is just crazy!). After, and this gets tricky, because sometimes people are coming in as others are leaving, I listen to make sure they wash their nasty hands. If they don't, I get quite worked up and often even constipated! And Prudie, it's H1NI season! And the holidays are approaching! Which means open food, buffet style, in the office! Snort! Prudie, how do I get these Neanderthals to wash they're freaking hands after touching their privates and/or their snotty noses before they kill us all?! (Submariner's note: you guys know how I love letters that start with, "My boyfriend's the bestest, most wonderful guy in the whole world, but..." Well, this is now my new favorite, "I'm not a germaphobe, but...") Okay, Ms. I'm-not-a-Germaphobe, I have a solution for you. Mind your own business. There's nothing you can do. And, what you're currently doing is giving yourself an ulcer. Fact is, you've ingested more poo in your life than you can possibly imagine. And amazingly, you've yet to expire. Your brain isn't working on all
LW#4: My brother is a schizophrenic with a violent past. He has abused me and others, even trying to kill my brother once. One night when I was wearing just a football jersey and my panties, we picked up a hitchhiker wearing a red and green sweater and a hockey mask. We didn't notice 'til he got in, but he'd been burned badly on his face. It gave me the creeps. Well, we brought this hitchhiker home and he and my brother started drinking beer while I took an unusually lengthy and soapy and slow shower. I then went to sleep, full moon's light streaming in my window so you could see my erect nipples through the bed sheet. In the morning, as I stumbled into the living room, hair and makeup perfect and perky, I noticed the hitchhiker gone, and my brother, on the couch, muttering about "Zuul". Now it's almost ten years later, to the night, and, though I've never given it much thought until now, I'm getting worried that my brother may have killed that hitchhiker, Prudie. What should I do? (mad props to tribble22 for the inspiration behind that letter summary) Well, first off, you've got to work on your fiction. What you have here has been done many times before, and far better. If we're to assume that you're letter is real, what other indication do you have that your brother killed this guy other than a gut feeling? Besides bad 70s cop shows and CSI: Miami, no one solves crimes on hunches and pert tits. Since it sounds like you really don't have anything other than that, I'd let this rest. But, (and I'm serious about this), I'd also suggest that you go to a counselor/psychiatrist and get checked out. I'm not saying that you're making this up or that you're mentally ill, but, mental illness does run in families, and, just to make sure that you aren't stressing yourself right into delusions, it might be a good idea to work this through with a professional rather than the Internet Lady and smarmy posters like me. Know what I mean? By the way, don't look behind you now, but...
Anyway, shippers, that's about it. The lagoon's been really peaceful and calm and the Holidays and New Year draw nearer and nearer. I do love this time of year! I have lots of boat maintenance to do, so I'm out. Fair winds and following seas to you all. And to all a good night!