Hey, Is That Snow on my Taint? No, it's Just DEAR APRON!

Yes, I know it's one day early and that "Dear Apron" is traditionally your Friday reward for making it through another lousy week, braving Balding Bob's inept sexual advances in the lunchroom and picking up a week's worth of dog shit. But, oh happy day, the joy of Dear Apron just couldn't wait another minute. So, without more ado, here we go!


DEAR APRON:

I am 20 and live most of the year on my college campus. I'm on a full scholarship, so my parents are not paying my tuition. Most of my mail -- bank statements, etc. -- still goes to my parents' house since I don't have a permanent address.

For the last two years, my mother has opened my bank statement and read the entire thing. She then calls me and goes through all of my card charges and checks, and asks me to explain where I was and what I bought.

I have tried telling her that I am an adult and that what I buy is my business, but she continues to do this every month. When I explained that I am capable of managing my own finances, she told me she was just worried about me and that "a mother ALWAYS has the right to worry about her only child."

I understand she will always be concerned about my well-being, financial and otherwise, but this is taking it too far. How can I explain to her that it's not OK to invade my privacy? I know she means well, and I don't want to hurt her feelings, but it's really becoming a hassle. -- COLLEGE CO-ED IN WILLIAMSBURG, VA.

DEAR COLLEGE CO-ED:

I have to say, I feel incredibly cheap and tacky addressing a letter "Dear College Co-Ed." I'm also undeniably aroused. Do you perchance have a webcam I can bookmark?

Now, getting back to your current dilemma, I agree with you 106%: your mother has no right to investigate your bank and credit card statements. Certainly "a mother ALWAYS has the right to worry about her only child" but that only child also has the right to some fucking privacy.

She obviously needs something to distract her, to divide her attention so it isn't constantly focused on you. Is she still young enough to have another child? Granted, her clamburger has probably dried up like a piece of Turkey Jerky by now but, if not, I would suggest that she start slamming your old man once she's ovulating. Barring that, maybe she needs to get some cats.

If this doesn't fix the problem, you could ways resort to paperless statements (I can't take credit for this environmental, practical suggestion-- see Mrs. Apron) that are delivered to your email, but I don't think this solves the root problem: your mother is an interfering little twat and needs to be dealt with accordingly. I can think of only one logical resolution to this problem:

Have her arrested.

No doubt you are aware that opening mail that is addressed to somebody else is a federal crime. Your mother is nothing short of a brazen criminal, and she needs to be punished accordingly. I think a few years in a federal penitentiary will smarten her up a trace. The U.S. Postal Police (or the United States Postal Inspection Service) may be reached at 1-877-876-2455. On hold for too long? Try the FBI or the U.S. Marshalls. Believe me, once this bitch eats pavement with the shoe of a federal agent on her neck, and once she's dyked over at some prison in Quantico by Squeaky Fromme, she won't open your goddamn bank statements anymore.

DEAR APRON:

After my mother died two years ago, my sisters and I divided up her household items, parceling out equally objects of material and sentimental value. One item, which went to my younger sister, "Beth," was a brightly colored handmade Native American rug our parents bought in the 1950s in Arizona. It had been displayed prominently for decades on a wall in the house where we three children grew up.

I visited Beth recently and was shocked to see that she had taken the rug out of storage and was using it as a floor rug in her family room. I shuddered to think of the damage that a daily trample by her three little kids, she and her husband and a sadly incontinent dog will do to this family treasure. I politely asked her to reconsider and find somewhere else to display it. If she couldn't, I offered to trade it for something of her choice from my parcel of the family possessions.

Beth took offense, reminding me that it is, after all, a rug, and that it now belongs to her. Emphasizing that her small house has limited wall space, she implied that I was trying to get the rug for myself. She feels my desire to see it displayed is no more valid than hers to see it used. Am I wrong in thinking she should not trash this heirloom? -- SENTIMENTAL IN HARTFORD, CONN.

DEAR SENTIMENTAL:

Ah-ha, another "Am I wrong in..." letter. Don't you just love it, folks?

No, sweetie, you're not "wrong." You're just a judgemental cuntslug.

I realize that your main issue here is your sister's disrespectful treatment of this gorgeous, one-of-a-kind handmade object, crafted diligently and expertly by a long-suffering native people. In honor of your faithful and steadfast devotion to the Native American cause, I would like to bestow upon you a traditional Wampognah Indian name: "Covets the Rug".

Listen, if you want to teach your sister that keeping the rug on the floor is wrong, the next time you go over there, the moment you cross the threshold, drop trou and squat right there on the fucking rug. As she and her kids and the incontinent dog watch in horror, do a finger-painting with the feces on the rug, shove your shit-covered hand down your own throat and raulpfgh all over it. If that doesn't send the right message, slit your wrists with your car keys and let that native blood, you sentimentalist, you.

DEAR APRON:

"Katy" and I are in a loving relationship but have an ongoing argument in our home. Katy always sets the alarm clock for an hour before it's time to get up -- then hits the "snooze" button five times before actually dragging herself out of bed (which is usually even later).

Because I am a light sleeper, I'm forced to listen to the alarm clock and end up waking up earlier than I'd like. Can you please offer a solution? -- SLEEPLESS IN SOUTH CAROLINA

DEAR SLEEPLESS:

Sure. A divorce would fix this quite nicely, I think. Why don't you two kids run along and try that out, hmm?

DEAR APRON:

I am 25, and have been in a relationship with a wonderful man I'll call "Tom" for a year. Tom is attentive, caring, funny, self-sufficient and comes from a great family. In short, he's everything a woman says she wants.

So why do I still constantly look at other men? I always worry that there's someone better-suited to me and that I'm just settling. Tom is definitely the best man I've ever met, and he would make a wonderful husband and father one day. So, how do I learn to appreciate what I have instead of always seeking something better, which very well may not exist? -- WANDERING EYE IN BUFFALO, N.

DEAR WANDERING EYE:

From what I've read in this little missive, Tom's probably gay. Most "almost-perfect" men are, so that's what I'm thinking. Now, you have to ask yourself, "am I okay marrying and having children with a probably gay man, even though he's got plenty in the bank, dresses and smells nice, barely ever farts, chews with his mouth closed and only occasionally masturbates to 'Physique' magazine in the bathroom while pretending to shave?"

If you're okay with that, I'm okay with that.

Oh, and you'll never stop that wandering eye of yours until you pluck it out with a shrimp fork, which I would highly recommend if you want to keep this relationship of yours intact.

DEAR APRON:

I am a single woman who has recently started a career in local government. In my position, I am often invited to functions with federal, state and local officials. On more than one occasion, "royalty" has attended as well.

At these events, I am often introduced to officials or dignitaries after I am already seated. Should I stand when introduced as the men do, or as a lady, should I remain seated? I have watched other women, including a few old "pros," and the results are split. Can you please tell me what is proper and respectful in these situations? -- PROTOCOL-CHALLENGED IN INDIANA

DEAR PROTOCOL-CHALLENGED:

How the fuck should I know? I've certainly never been at some fancy soiree sitting across from the Shah of fucking Persia.

Thanks for rubbing it in, though.