http://www.slate.com/id/2248158/ (03/18/2010) <---Original Prudie Letters Can Be Found There
Hey Hidey Ho, Shippers! How in the hell are ya on this fine, fine Prudie Day? It’s a wonderful day, isn’t it? Hopefully you’re getting past the weird effects of the clocks jumping an hour ahead and you’re now fully ready for the weekend? I know that I am! I’m really looking forward to Saturday, specifically, though. Did you know that Mr. Rogers (he of outside sweater, inside sweater fame) was born on the 20th of March?! I used to think that Bret Michaels (he of the outside venereal disease, inside venereal disease fame) was also born on the 20th. He’s a guilty favorite of mine from back in the hair metal days. But, alas, the perfect convergence of a Michaels/Rogers birthday weekend is not to be, as Bret was actually born into this world, fully-formed and rockin (and yes, probably already sporting a cold sore), on the 15th of March, not the 20th. Still, pretty good week for births, eh? And, oh, Kathy Ireland is on Saturday, too. So that’s a freakin’ trifecta of awesomeness for Saturday! But, anyway, let’s move past my weird fixation with birth dates and on to the letters, shall we?
LW#1: Dear Prudie, I’m a university student enrolled in a class that meets several hours per week...I say that in order to differentiate it from those that don’t. You know, those 10-minute-per-week classes that the rest of you took back in the old days before real schools were invented and we GEN-Y kids started college. You know, back when things were easy. Anyway, there was this hot dude in class that was, like, totally making my juices flow and so I finally screwed up the courage to ask him where I knew him from. Well, it turns out that he’s the grandson of the woman whose husband molested me as a child when I was in the care of his (this fellow-student’s) grandmother. I now hate this fellow student and can’t stand coming to class anymore. And who could blame me? It has nothing to do with the class being difficult and meeting for several hours per week. Honest. It’s just that I’m now pretty sure that at any moment he’s going to molest me, or invite his family in to molest me. In front of the whole class! What should I do? Look, your problem is more serious than I made it sound in the rewording of your question, but, it’s not one for the Internet Lady to answer. Nor is it one for me to answer. The truth is, this issue is about you, not your classmate. You have to work through this. Perhaps that’s with a counselor. Perhaps that’s through self help books. Perhaps via meditation while smoking pot with the Maharishi? I can’t know. But what I do know is that what happened to you is not the fault of this classmate. His presence in the same class with you is simply a fluke of the Universe. What you’ve got to do is figure out how to deal with that fluke without causing this innocent bystander to be damaged in the process. There’s been enough damage already, wouldn’t you agree?
LW#2: Dear Prudie, I fear that my four-year-old may have heard and/or seen my husband and me during our “private time”. We were being terrifically acrobatic and I’m afraid it’s going to cause him to be in therapy in 20 years, probably live a life of crime, and then die from a combination of AIDS and herpes that he contracted from Bret Michaels. He has such a brilliant mind (my son, not Bret, who is, after all, brilliant in his own way), staying up late at night working on process management for cereal crunch enhancement (you know, a non-nutritive cereal varnish, semi-permeable, non-osmotic, coats and seals the flake...) and I don’t want that beautiful mind damaged, Prudie! What should I do? Holy fucking batshit, woman?! Are you fucking kidding me? Do you honestly think that you and/or your husband are so fucking impressive, so fucking mind-bending in your playing of hide the kielbasa that you can compete with Dora the Explorer and Wishbone the reading dog in this child’s mind?! Well, okay, fine, perhaps with a mother like you, he will end up in therapy in 20 years. How could he not if every single hang up that you have in your life you transfer onto him?! What if next he accidentally sees a tiny byproduct of your monthly cycle? Will he worry about your death and need counseling? What if he sees you kissing Santa Claus? You know, underneath the mistletoe? What you need to do is quit projecting and actually, you know, pay attention to your child. Is he now acting out sex scenes with the family pet and a Vienna sausage (or toothpick?)? Is he ordering latex gloves off the Internet? Those are things worthy of addressing. Non-nutritive cereal varnish, though? Not so much. Oh, and, one last thing. When you have “private time”, why not, a) learn to call it “sex” or even “making love” (which is bad enough), but, mystifying it by calling it stupid shit like “private time (tee-hee)” only makes it that much more of a potential hang up that you’re transferring directly to your child, and, b), close your fucking door, dumbass.
LW#3: Dear Prudie, I’m a 22 year old woman engaged to a 25 year old man. His mom takes care of everything for him. She makes his appointments and goes with him to them, she does his laundry, and she even comes over and takes care of him when he’s sick. Fact is, I think the bitch needs to keep her mitts off my man! I can take care of his needs just fine. He’s all grown up now and needs a wife to do that stuff for him, not a mommy. How can I get her to step back and let me take over? Oh my god, if irony was a nickel, you’d be so rich that you could buy the country out of debt and pay for our healthcare, too. Listen here, you terrible fucking ignorant enabling idiot! You think it’s a good idea to replace mommy with your own brand of being mommy? If this dumbassed, lazy, fucktarded piece of shit of yours hasn’t stopped mom from taking care of him already, and, you know, managed to become a fully autonomous adult, your offer to “take over” from mom surely is no problem to him. Fuck, why should he even bother getting up in the morning? Would you wipe his ass and clean the sheets if he decided to just take a shit right there in the bed? You think you’re doing him a favor getting his mom out of his life, only to then take over her “duties”? You are in a sick, twisted, co-dependent relationship that you need to extricate yourself from. Further, dumbass, if you were with a real man, you wouldn’t have to worry about mommy, because he would have taken care of that years ago. Instead, you’re with a momma’s boy, Mrs. Mom.
LW#4: Dear Prudie, I recently received a “save the date” card for a wedding in which the bride is the daughter of someone with whom I barely have a speaking relationship. Someone with whom I sometimes discuss the weather in the elevator! I mean, I didn’t even know his name prior to the receiving the “save the date” card! I’m really conflicted because I just can’t know what to do?! Do I give a gift? I sort of feel obligated because I got a card. But I have no intention of attending the wedding. What should I do? I know that math is hard. I get that. But, in this case, are you really asking this question? I mean, seriously-really? A save the date card? And not only do you not know the bride, you barely know the father of the bride?! And further, your fucking employer gave this guy your address?! What sort of fucked-up building do you work in, anyway?! And how presumptuous of this fucking couple?! Sounds to me like another couple of “adults” needing to cut the apron strings. By the way, I’ve just dropped 365 party invitations in the mail to you (one for each day for the next year). I know that you don’t know me, and I don’t really expect you to attend these parties, but, I sure as fuck expect a gift for every single invitation. In case you were wondering, I really like shawl collar men’s cardigans. Wool. Don’t be sending me any of that cheap synthetic shit! Dark colors only please, but a nice dark green would do nicely, too. Oh, maybe even that earthy olive green that professors and old war heroes like to wear? That’s nice, as well. They make me look sophisticated. If you’d like, you can just give me coupons for services like doing my laundry or cleaning my house. That’s fine, too. Got it? Good.
Well, Shippers, that’s about it. I’d like to think that we’ve made a difference this week, but, in case we didn’t that’s okay, too. It’s still fun anyway, yes? Until next week, I wish you the best of days. May the wind be fair and the seas be following. And may your surface-to-dive ratio always be one-to-one. Until next week, then, Shippers...