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Thursday, December 17, 2009

Let's Make Dear Abby Vomit In Her Grave With DEAR APRON!

I've said it once, and I'll say it again:

Boy, DEAR APRON is like a table-spoon of sulphur & molasses: it's the cure for what ails ya!


How do you explain to a man how uncomfortable hot flashes are? I'm a perimenopausal woman who has been married for 12 years to a sweet husband who loves to "snuggle." But when I'm having a hot flash, the last thing I want is a warm body touching me. My husband thinks I'm "mean" and that I'm one of those "freaky females."

How can I make him understand that hot flashes happen, and that it should be OK for me to ask for some space until the feeling passes? -- HOT FLASH HILDA


Is your name really Hilda? I hope so.

Well, I'm in a bit of a pickle here. See, my gut instinct is to suggest sitting down with your husband (not too close, of course, in case you have a sudden equatorial meltdown) and having something called "a discussion" with him.

Now, you're obviously incapable of doing this, or you'd have already done it, instead of writing a frustrated cow letter to some random person you've never met and whom society has deemed a sage advice-giver to societal dregs who are too mentally and emotionally incompetent to handle their own problems.

Since you're such an obvious pro at letter writing, why not pen your sweet, snuggly husband a letter? Not that you need the guidance, but here's a sample of something you might deem appropriate:

"Dear Vlad or Whatever Your Name Is,

You might have noticed that I've been a real bitch to you lately. This is because I am entering a stage in my life as a woman known as perimenopausiation. I know what you're thinking-- you thought I was all done being a bitch once my periods were done.

Well, no.

See, my skin is getting all leathery and my hair is falling out and the area under my eyes looks looks like two handbags. My breasts resemble deflated whoopie-cushions and my moustache is now more prominent than Borat's. My ass looks doughy and misshapen and has more pock marks than the moon or Bill Murray's face.

It's a miracle that you still even want to cuddle with me at all, but it probably says more about your declining eyesight than it does about my physique. Perhaps you want to cuddle with me more because I more closely resemble a 20-year-old down pillow than I ever did before.

Either way, I hate you more than I ever did. If you come any closer, I will cut you so bad you'll look like a motherfucking Jackson Pollack painting.

Hotflash Hildabeast"


My husband and I are in our 80s. For many years we used to entertain during the holidays. Now we wonder where all our former guests have disappeared to.
Our annual parties grew to include more than 80 friends. Dinner was prepared by a chef; we had a bartender and a pianist. People said they looked forward to those gatherings year after year.

We never expected anyone to entertain us in the same way, yet even being asked out for hamburgers would have been such a treat. Very few reciprocated in any way except to bring a few bottles of wine. We miss them and wonder if people realize that a simple get-together is always appreciated. -- FOOD FOR THOUGHT, SPARKS, NEV.


Are you kidding me? Look at these two sentences, please, and draw your own conclusion, if you can. (If not, I'll help.)

Sentence #1: "My husband and I are in our 80s."

Sentence #2: " Now we wonder where all our former guests have disappeared to."

Honey, they're fucking dead. They're groovin' it to Benny Goodman tunes in Hell waiting for Bernie Madoff to show up so they can all gang-rape him. All your old buddies are rotting away in crypts or shitting themselves in Craftmatic adjustable beds and you're miffed that they haven't been inviting you out for hamburgers?

Well, Merry fucking Christmas to you, too, Mrs. Thurston Howell, III.


I work at a public library and live not far from where I work. A lot of people who use the library live in my apartment building and I run into them often. These people never hesitate to stop me when I'm clearly off the clock to ask me a slew of library questions.

I confess I'm a bit of a doormat, and I'm afraid to ask them to leave me alone. Is there a way to tell those people to quit harassing me when I'm not working? I'd feel so much better about myself if I learned how. -- THE ANSWER LADY


Of course you're a doormat, you're a public librarian. Meekness and subservience were all part of the contract you signed, don't you remember? You are also required to wear brooches on your sweaters and take up quilting, and I hope you've remembered which of your favorite patrons has given birth this year so you can send a gender-appropriate baby quilt in time for Christmas, because you signed on for that, too, you dowdy little twit.

Now you get down on the ground and spread out like the filthy, smelly doormat that you are! I will bombard you with questions about Mitch Albom books and quiz you on the Dewey Decimal System while I assault you with my muddy galoshes! BOW TO ME, FOR I AM THE PATRON OF YOUR NIGHTMARES!

And, finally, a bonus Dear Apron for that special d-bag on your gift list!


With the holidays here, I know people are considering gifts for older friends and family members. My 83-year-old mother still lives in her own home. She doesn't want more "stuff," so every year we give her practical things we know she already uses on a daily basis, including laundry detergent, bath oil beads and soap, toothpaste -- even bird seed for her bird feeders. By the end of the year she has used up everything we have given her and is ready for new supplies.

Mom is happy with these gifts and says it saves her from having to go out and spend money on these things herself. Practical, everyday items make the best gifts for the older person on your list. -- MARY IN RICHARDSON, TEXAS


And where, might I ask, are they holding the Daughter-of-the-Year Award ceremony this year? Will it be in the Netherlands, so you may follow in the esteemed footsteps of Nobel Peace Prize winners like Barack Obama? I do hope you have something oh-so-special to wear to all of the affiliated cocktail parties and social events that come with such an honor. Maybe Mom can come along as your special guest. You can just buy her something to wear-- a jumpsuit or whatever-- at Salvation Army.

I was very taken with your list of gift items for your frail, aging mother. You neglected, however, to mention a few other gifts that would no doubt be appreciated by your mother and other geriatrics. Allow me to supplement your excellent and delightful list (toothpaste and bird-seed-- who'da thunkit?!)

* A Home Healthcare Aide.

I realize that you're the perfect daughter, but even the perfect daughter can't be bothered with mom's incessant needs like water, food, and companionship all the time! Why not hire an Eldernanny from These highly-trained, $8.50-an-hour certified assistant nurses assistants-in-training would be the perfect addition to any old crow's filthy apartment. Choose from a wide array of home healthcare professionals funny-sounding names and professionally-maincured nails, some that are at least two-and-a-half feet long! Careful when wiping those asses, girls! And speaking of which....

* Commode Liners.

Nothing says "I love you, Ma" like a Cleanis Care Bag Commode Liner, that "holds up to 16.9 ounces of organic liquids!" These bags have special inserts that turn human waste "into a gel for easy cleanup!" You can get ol' Ma a case of 400 bags for only $369.00! That's so many bags, you can even line her Christmas stockings with them!

* A Coffin.

While you're shopping online, why not head on over to and pick out a box for mom? Nothing wrong with a little pre-planning now, is there? Sure, she won't be inviting Mrs. Howell over for hamburgers anymore, but she can still party like a grand old dame in her "Cherub Angels Art Casket." Yes, it's exactly like what it sounds-- a casket with a fucking airbrushed painting all over it. Only $2,997.97-- reduced from $5,995.00! I think I see Santa's sleigh pulling one of those bad boys over to your neck of the woods!



  1. I heart Dear Apron. I wish Abby was still with us, so she could be horrified with it. :)

  2. As I started reading the last one I'm thinking "maybe they should start a savings account for the funeral arrangements" but I guess you beat me to it.

    Oh Apron! Thank the good Lord we have you for advice!

  3. I know we've only just met, but is it too early to say that I love you, Mr. Apron? You make my day.

  4. Cat-- I think it's good she's dead. But I'll bet her daughter won't be too fond of me when she Googles this shit. If she knows what Google is.

    Ice Queen-- Great minds think alike!

    Sparksy-- It's never too early for that schmoopie shit!


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