My wife always compiles her worries and concerns until we have to have a long, difficult, drawn out conversation. I would rather deal with something when she’s annoyed with me (e.g., I left my dishes in the sink again) and get it over with. Is this how we’re evolutionarily wired? Are women built for endurance while men are built for short bursts of intensity? How do I get her to tell me when I’ve done one thing wrong, rather than waiting until she has a laundry list to be mad about?
I have no idea what to tell you, except that maybe you shouldn’t be married to her. Or maybe she needs counseling. Yes. She needs counseling. She needs to learn to address things in the moment, live in the now, and stop holding back. Obviously, her parents taught her not to express any emotions or feelings.
The main thing to remember is: You’re not the one with the problem. She is. And she needs to go get help. She doesn’t like you leaving dishes in the sink? My reaction, if I were her, would be to pull the dishes out of the sink and smash them all. Then you would never forget to take care of your dishes again. But because she’s unwell, she won’t do that. She’ll wait six months until Christmas morning to tell you how much it upsets her and how it gives her hives on her left buttock.
Please. Send her to therapy.
Almost all of the important ladies in my life are either getting married or having babies in the next several months. How do I fete them all without going broke?
Since money is the concern, you could sell your eggs on the Internet. Then you could have enough money to buy presents for all the women who are fertilizing their own. There’s your solution. Sell your eggs since you’re not using them. Avoid fertilization and make some cash.
My dad just bought a motorcycle. We’re all terrified he’s going to seriously hurt himself while addressing his midlife crisis. How can I convince him to rediscover his youth in a bit safer way – perhaps a convertible Miata?
The old geezer has a problem. The main thing you need to do is make sure he has a will and that his life insurance policy is paid up. Then give him a kiss on both cheeks and send his behind down the highway.
The sad reality is, most people who have motorcycles end up having an accident. He will end up all bruised up, cut up, and, if he survives the crash, you’ll get to go to the hospital, take him flowers, and tell him how much you love him. In the back of your mind, you’ll think, “If this geezer would just kick off, I would have some cash.”
I feel sorry for him. And there’s no need for him to be flying around on a motorcycle. We’re not armadillos. We have delicate, thin skin that tears and bones that break. An emery board will take off your fingernails and the asphalt will take all the skin off your derriere. Tell him to cool it.
I think I might be addicted to Pinterest. I’m spending an hour or four at night drinking gin and tonics and pinning cute kitchens, clothes, DIY projects, and party ideas. I’m focusing on curating my fake life and ignoring my real life. I know it’s a problem, but I don’t exactly want to stop. Is it really a big deal if I pin all the cute manicures and necklace tutorials and never execute any of them?
You’re living a surreal reality. What are you, Martha Stewart on crack? For god’s sake, just get up and do something. Think about old people. If they don’t get up and move, they die. You need to get up and start doing all these lovely things you think about, rather than putting them on some lovely computer so people can look at your page and figure out just how ill you really are.
The thing about it is, you’re wasting your time. Either you’re addicted to Pinterest or you’re addicted to gin and tonics. Maybe that’s the problem: You’re just an alcoholic – an alcoholic who likes to have pretty little pictures in front of you so you can dream about all the things you’re going to do, but then you’re too hung-over to ever actually do anything.
Stop it all. Go out. Do something. Get away from that screen. That screen is sucking the life out of you. It’s not giving you life; it’s taking it away.
My friend and her fiance recently sent me their wedding registry. Instead of the usual toaster and serving trays, they want their guests to contribute to them buying a new house. I know this is a new trend, and some people ask for honeymoon money, but I think it’s weird. Am I being too fussy about what a traditional wedding gift should be, or should I contribute to their love nest?
If the two of them are getting married and they can’t afford a house, apartment, or condo, tell them to move to the trailer park. Then you can buy them a wedding gift that is suitable for a couple that lives in a trailer park.
No, you don’t need to give people money for a house or a honeymoon. That’s absurd. People are insane. If someone doesn’t have money for a honeymoon or a house or a wedding, perhaps they should consider just quietly going down to the courthouse to get married and taking a trip down to the Derby Motel in Shively, rather than begging for money from their family and friends.
No, no, no. Don’t contribute to their love nest. And tell them I told them to hump off.
I recently committed one of the world’s worst social gaffes when I asked an acquaintance when her baby was due. She told me she wasn’t pregnant. It was an honest mistake, but I feel like a heel. What is the best way to smooth something like that over?
Well, you could always offer to pay for her liposuction. That would be a nice apologetic gesture.
Honestly, most Americans today look pregnant, whether they are female, male, transgender, heterosexual, homosexual, or lesbian. It’s our food, darling. Have you looked around? It is impossible to stay thin in this country unless you eat strictly organic food from the health food store. Unfortunately, then you end up floating around looking like you’re on drugs like those people at the health food store.
For god’s sake, don’t ever tell anyone you’re happy they’re pregnant nowadays. We’re all overweight. And it’s hard for overweight people to get pregnant. Don’t you know that? Haven’t you been watching HBO?
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—MGMT.
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