Well, Shit on My Chest and Call it a Spa Treatment... It's DEAR APRON!

Here's your glimpse into the socially incompetent individuals who write in to Dear Abby, hoping she will solve all of their banal dilemmae, and who end up getting their chests shat upon by me.

Yup, welcome to Dear Apron: the least helpful advice column... ever.

DEAR APRON:

I have always been a curious and motivated person. Because of it, I pursued higher education and became a college professor. Most of my siblings have also gone to college. However, their significant others have varying levels of education.

I like to think of myself as a nice person, but my siblings have let me know that when I converse with their partners, I often come across as patronizing. Do these partners need to be less sensitive, or do I need to be more so? -- THE GOOD PROFESSOR

DEAR GOOD PROFESSOR:

Of COURSE it's their problem, Professor!

Of COURSE they're too sensitive!

I mean-- it's so obvious to me-- why are you even bothering to write to me about this? Don't you have a treatise to compose on the Proustian Ethics of Mammalian Phonology for the Journal of American Pomposity?

But, seriously, though-- I feel for you, Welcome Back, Kotter. It cannot be easy for you, being an intellectual giant amongst a muddle of mental midgets. They don't understand you, in your gently-distressed tweed jacket and shock of dapper, salt-and-pepper hair. And that's why you've come to me-- because I get it... and I get you.

You're bursting with intellectual curiosity-- why that much is clear. That is, after all, the reason you entered academia-- because you were intellectually curious. It wasn't because you wanted cheap, subsidized housing in a posh neighborhood, or because you love to listen to the sound of your voice meandering through a two-and-a-half hour lecture in an affected British accent, or because you get off on staring intensely at copious mounds of freshly Herbal Essence'd hair, fanned gently over an endless gaggle of woodblock-firm breasts.

See? I understand.

I wish I had advice for you as you struggle valiantly to communicate with the societal dregs who have latched onto your well-groomed siblings like big, great leeches, thirsting hungrily for your family's obvious good breeding and intellectual prowess, but I have no advice for you. Oh, certainly, I can proffer mindless suggestions, like avoid words with greater than three syllables, eat with your hands, sit down in a pile of your own filth and squalor and talk about the NFL whilst pouring beer down your pants. Or, I don't know... watch some more TV. Start with "Teen Mom" or "FOX News."

DEAR APRON: My parents divorced when my older brother and I were small. Mom remarried, and I was adopted by the wonderful man who raised me as his beloved daughter. I had limited contact with my biological father, "Nate," which seemed to please everyone.

After my adopted dad passed, Nate came back into my life. I have not seen much of him but he was present at my second marriage five years ago, traveling across country to be there.
Last month he called to tell me he has been diagnosed with terminal cancer and has named me as his heir since my older brother is deceased.

As a birthday gift, I presented him with a box from a company that does genome sequencing. It allows people to see their DNA and learn about their ancestry as well as any health-related issues. I enjoyed learning about genetics and thought Nate would, too.

Imagine how stunned I was when I learned that Nate is NOT my father. The company has assured me there is little chance the test is wrong, and they are certain we are not related.

I am close to my mother and horrified that she kept this secret from me for more than 50 years. I don't want anyone to be hurt, but I need the truth. What do I do?
-- QUESTIONING MY DNA IN S.F.

DEAR QUESTIONING DNA:

You know what I'm questioning? Your taste in birthday gifts.

I'd love to know what you've given Nate in past years. A cryogenically-frozen embryo? A pair of plastinated testicle cufflinks? I hope the news about his paternity doesn't stop you from celebrating his birthday next year-- (if he makes it)-- because I'm sure he's looking forward to that ninety-seven gallon cask of jet fuel that you had imported from Abu Dhabi.

My birthday is May 12th, but don't you worry about sending me a gift. In fact, I'd be afraid to even see what a card from you might look like-- a Rorschach test maybe?-- so you can just skip it entirely, even though it is the big 3-0.

I'm sorry Nate's dying and he isn't your real father, and I'm sorry your mom was basically a prostitute. I wonder what kind of gifts you buy her.

DEAR APRON:

Please settle a dispute between my wife and me. One of her co-workers, "Cassie," is eight months pregnant and also overweight. My wife saw her and said, "Wow, you've gotten as big as a house!"

Cassie told her she was hurt by the comment. In my wife's opinion, what she said is not uncommon when said to a pregnant woman and she thinks Cassie was overly sensitive. I believe the comment was inappropriate. What do you think? -- NEEDS A MEDIATOR, GAINESVILLE, FLA

DEAR NEEDS A MEDIATOR:

Wait, wait, wait-- I'm one confused Apron. A woman said something inappropriate and insensitive, and a man is writing to some old lady for advice? What are we-- in some kind of alternate universe? Am I going to abandon Gilbert & Sullivan for Death Cab for Cutie now? Please pinch my dicktip-- I'm very, very frightened.

Getting back, though, to your original letter, one must take cultural sensitivity into consideration and shed our ethnocentric sensibilities and preconceived notions of right and wrong. Different cultures take offense at different things. For instance, in American culture, itis considered offensive not to make eye-contact with people, but in certain Asian countries-- eye-contact is very rude.

It is common knowledge that, in Gainesville, approaching some slovenly, pregnant, ass-layered Bertha and remarking that she is "as big as a house" is actually considered a compliment. Cassie must have been kidding when she claimed to be hurt. Really, she loved it, that fucking ornery condominium.