...on the Grandfathering in of Vagina Access Rights

http://www.slate.com/id/2243578/ (02/04/2010) <---Original Prudie Letters Can Be Found There


Hey hidey ho, Shippers! How in the hell are ya on this fine, fine Prudie Day? Me? Well, thanks for asking! All here is okay, I suppose. You know, I’ve come to realize that things can always get worse, so, in the end, I reckon that all’s going along swimmingly. I mean, I could bemoan the obvious imminent discontinuation of The Fray, but, what good would that do? Life goes on, right? We adapt or we are left behind. So, with that in mind, let’s have a look at some failures to adapt...

LW#1: Dear Prudence, I Madame, am the paragon of all that is good and moral and upstanding in the human race. My brother, on the other hand, is a whore-bedding, brother-badgering, haughty bastard. As a youngster, I watched him lay a procession of nasty, filthy, used women. And the more and more I tried to bed them, too, and was rebuffed, the more that they, and he, disgusted me. Because I’m such an upstanding and perfect person, though, I married a girl whom I knew to be perfect as well. We’ve had three children and live a happy life together. Until recently. During the second of my twice-daily sermons to her on how wonderful I am, I was badgering her like a mule on crack cocaine and she finally admitted to me that she’d once had a one-night fling with my brother! This was years before she and I met, Prudence, but I see it as the ultimate betrayal of my trust in her and I am considering divorce. What should I do? Dear Fuckburger McShittyprick, I could go on and on about how you were not grandfathered in on the property and access rights of your wife’s vagina, and that you do not get any say, whatsoever, regarding who or what was in there before you even met her, but, that speech would fall on deaf ears, wouldn’t it? Plus, since you’re so obviously the natural evolution of last week’s abusive boyfriend, I’d just be repeating myself anyway. So, as to my advice to you: you should divorce her. Right now. On the spot. Please! I beg this of you! But not for your sake, you ignorant bag of shit, but for your wife’s and children’s sake. Perhaps they can live together in harmony and peace, maybe even with someone who understands and respects them, maybe not. But either way, they will be free of your cancerous influence. And frankly, that’s enough for me.

LW#2: Dear Prudie, I have been a very, very bad girl. A long time ago, when I was first dating my now-husband, I got way drunk and made out (heavily) with a coworker. When I sobered up and realized what I’d done (because, of course, being drunk, I had no control over my actions whatsoever, tee-hee), I quit my job so that I wouldn’t have to be around this man/temptation ever again. As I say, my then-boyfriend and I have since married and have been so for several years. I feel terribly guilty about what happened and want to tell him. What should I do? You, my dear, have been spending way too much time around people like LW#1 (and his predecessor from last week) and your self esteem has been damaged to a point of needing counseling. Serious counseling. No, it’s not something you can fix by watching Dr. Phil on Oprah, or by writing in to the Internet Lady. You’ve got some tough work ahead of you and need to find your self-worth. It’s in there, deep, deep down. And, while you’re at it, have the therapist work with you on taking responsibility for your actions. Yeah, you know what I mean by that, chicky-doodle, so don’t act all hurt. What? Oh, you were asking about if you should tell your husband? Fuck, fuckity, fucking, fuck no! That’s N.O. Clear enough for you? Now, get thee to a counselor!

LW#3: Dear Prudie, my husband had a stroke about 18 months back. Since then, all through recovery and through the realization that he’s not going to get back to being exactly who he was physically, he’s been a major downer. I mean, all he talks about is what he’s lost, how bad off he is, what a bummer of a situation his life is, etc. And Prudie, I think he should be grateful! I mean, he didn’t die, afterall. Through physical therapy, he’s gotten back most of his mobility and speech, and, other than being unable to perform his profession any more (which means that I have to now bring home the bacon, and, fry it up in a pan), he’s physically okay. I can’t stand coming home to his whining and complaining any more, though, Prudie! I’ve tried to get him to counseling, and his physician put him on anti-depressants, but nothing is working. He’s still a poop. What can I do? Listen, I’m going to go easy on you, which is against my nature and meme, because this is a tough situation and even though your husband is the one who had the stroke, it’s affected both of you. A lot. What I suggest is that you try to really analyze what you’re feeling and why. And be honest with yourself. That's allowed.  I only have your letter to go on, so I’m going to assume it’s just your husband’s post-stroke nasty temperament and that otherwise you’re happy (but, just between us, I’d work on the bitterness you’re feeling about having to support his ungrateful ass, too). If that’s true, though, if you are otherwise happy, I advise you to find a support group for caregivers, and, too, to allow yourself to get up and leave when you can’t take it anymore. You need hobbies, too! You need something to clear your head every once in awhile. All work and no play makes Jacqueline a dull girl! So, when hubby starts with his whining and moaning, listen if you can. Be supportive if you can. And, when you can’t take it anymore, tell him, “Sorry dude, be back in a bit!” And go to the gym. Or to the movies. Or out riding your motorcycle! When you get back, you’ll be recharged, even if he’s still wallowing in his self pity. And hopefully maybe you can both come out of this one day. But don’t lose yourself in his stroke, too, while you wait on him to emerge, okay? Good luck.

LW#4: Dear Prudie, my husband is an auto mechanic and works at a repair shop that’s part of a chain of shops. The manager at my husband’s branch is very religious and believes in giving time, labor and parts to those in need. The problem is that in doing this, he docks the hours of all of the workers. Sometimes my husband puts in a full day’s worth of work, but only gets credit for (and paid for) two hours. The District Manager doesn’t know this is going on, and he really likes my husband. Should my husband tell the DM what’s up? He’s scared that if he does, his manager might get fired. Okay, as Schuyler the Cat might say, “Here, in this hand, is a big, huge fucking hammer with spikes and rusty saw blades poking out in all directions, and here, in the other hand, is a soft, downy feather held between my fingers by a silken kerchief. You choose one of the two for me to poke into your eyeball.” You’re fucking kidding, right? Listen, no one is going to watch out for your husband’s career except your husband. And the boss’ altruism aside, that fucker is a lunatic on a rope and your husband is enabling him. If I work eight hours somewhere? Someone’s damned sure paying my crusty ass eight fucking hours worth of money or there’s going to be trouble. See, I value my time. But hey, if your husband thinks it’s okay to get 25% credit for his work, then more power to him. Tell you what, I want you to start spending 75% of your time over at my house, taking care of me, okay? When your husband asks why, say, “Oh, don’t worry, Hon. I’m still giving you 25% of my time. I just figured 75% of my time is free, so I’m going to spend that portion with a real man.” See if he gets the point. My guess is that he will.

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Well, shippers, that’s it. If you have a chance, or know any Fraysters who are feeling put out by what’s happening over there on Slate regarding what appears to be the imminent demise of The Fray, aim there here to “The Fly”. I hate that our community there is probably short for this world, but, hey, it brought us together, right? And that’s worth at least some nice ice cream and two spoons, yeah? So spread the word, shippers! And, as always, fair winds and following seas to ya! ‘Til next week!