Well Pull Out My Teeth and Call Me Enos, It's... DEAR APRON!

Bitches, this is officially the last Dear Apron column...

OF MY TWENTY-NINTH YEAR!

Oh, man-- you shoulda seen your face! Covered in jit!

I love you.

DEAR APRON:

I recently got genital herpes. I am very depressed over it and am experiencing a lot of difficulties, not to mention the expense.

The man I caught the virus from, "Jack," claims he didn't know he had herpes. I don't know what to believe, except that I should be compensated. My life has been destroyed. I hate the fact that this happened and, to top it off, Jack has changed his phone number! Is this a criminal act? Should I take action? -- OUTRAGED IN MISSOURI

DEAR ZOSTER-PUSS:

Look, honey, as you now very well know, you can't change the fact that you have the genny herps. What you can change is your attitude about it. You can choose to live the rest of your life in burning, itching, weeping shame, and that's your choice, or you can make a different choice: to be proud of your herpes.

That's right, I said it. Proud.

The next time you have an outbreak, take pictures and put them up on Facebook. Let your FB buds "Like" your sores and pustules. Get a t-shirt made that says "I'm With Herps" with an arrow pointing down to your crotch. And wear that motherfucker proudly. Herpes is only something to be ashamed of if you're ashamed of it. See what I mean?

And of course "Jack" changed his phone number. You were fucking calling him every six minutes going, "MEH! YOU GAVE ME HERPES! I FUCKING HATE YOU, YOU BUMPY-ASSED DOWEL-DICK!" I mean, wouldn't you change your number if someone was doing that to you? And no, what he did isn't a crime, but harrassment by telephone is.

DEAR APRON:

Early this year, my mother went to the curb to collect the empty trash bin and put it away for the week. As she wheeled it behind her home, she slipped on the ice and broke her hip. She lives alone and was in the back of her property where nobody could see or hear her.

Fortunately, she'd had the foresight to grab her cell phone before she went outside. Because she was unable to stand up she could have frozen to death. She called 911 and within minutes an ambulance arrived to take her to the hospital.

Mom had surgery to repair the hip and is recovering, but it was a close call. This is a reminder to your readers that if they live alone -- or have parents who do -- to make sure to have a cell phone available at all times. -- RELIEVED SON IN ELKHART, IND.

DEAR RELIEVED SON:

Um.... great. Thanks.

I guess.

DEAR APRON:

My wife was hired for an administrative position. On her first day of work, they called her into the human resources director's office and told her she was being "let go" because of her website. The site has photos of her when she worked as a model for a large department store. They are in no way provocative or overly revealing. Photos of our children are also on the site.

The HR director told her that one of the other (internal) applicants had Googled her and had seen the site. An image so upset the other applicant that she made a formal complaint, which caused my wife's dismissal!

We consulted a lawyer and contacted the local Equal Employment Opportunity Commission only to be told that North Carolina is an "at will" employment state and that the employer did nothing wrong. We feel their actions were wrong. Is there anything that can be done? -- YANKEE IN CONFEDERATE COUNTRY

DEAR YANKEE:

Just so we're all clear on our history-- the Civil War ended 145 years ago, and I'm pretty sure the North won. Southerners aren't allowed on network television unless they are toothless, intoxicated and wearing wifebeaters that are at least 85% stained with sweat and beer.

I like how you are indirectly, though clearly blaming the fact that your slutty wife got fired from her job because you live below the Mason-Dixon line. Look-- nobody told her to pose for Lane Bryant bustenhalter ads-- I'm pretty sure that was her choice. By the way, will you email me privately and tell me what the website is? I'm not usually into fat chicks, but if those pics were hot enough to get her shitcanned on the first day-- I don't know... I might be willing to give that a shot.

By the way: why do your children appear online wearing Lane Bryant underwear? That's just wrong.

DEAR APRON:

My mother got drunk at a family function and started a fight with me. I ended up leaving before it could escalate, but I feel I ruined the host's day. Would it be appropriate to send an "I'm sorry" note, and how would I word it? -- MAKING AMENDS IN TENNESSEE

DEAR MAKING AMENDS:

Fucking. Excellent.

Here's what I suggest:

"Dear (Insert Party Host's Name Here),

Thank you very much for inviting my mother and I to Dale Earnhardt, Jr XI's Bar-Mitzvah. Dale looked so handsome and grown up with his back-parting and his moustache. You can barely see his nostrilectomy scar anymore-- and I'm sure the photographer can airbrush it out anyway. I really enjoyed myself, and those mini T-Bone steak appetizers were just divine. You'd be amazed at how well they keep inside a dark purse, even days later!

Before I apologize for not bringing a card or a check, I wanted to apologize for Mom's behavior. As you know, she can be a bit unpredictable when she has been drinking, which is why I strongly suggested that little Dale's affair be dry. And I appreciate your listening to me. However, Ma somehow procured some wood varnish that was being used to shine up the synagogue's bema and, well, you know Ma and wood varnish.

Fortunately, she made it through the ceremony only shouting the "N-word" twice, I think, and, for that I think we can all be grateful. It could have been a lot worse. As for her rugby-tackling the rabbi as he was about to give little Dale those candlesticks, well, we all tried to hold her back-- but she is, as Dad used to say, "Strong like bull, dumb like tractor."

Besides, I hear that radically dislocated shoulders heal relatively quickly for men aged 42-56.

Now, I am the first to admit that her behavior at the party afterwards was extreme, even for Ma. But you know how she is when her genital herpes are acting up.

Admittedly, there was no alcohol there, and I appreciate you making the party dry, but did you have to invite Robert Downey, Jr? Once Ma got him in the corner and sucked on his neck skin for an hour-and-a-half, she was as drunk as a fucking loon on Friday night. I was embarrassed for everyone when she tied one of the tablecloths around her face and shouted, "I AM UNDER THE BURQUA!" and urinated all over the band. When she commandeered the microphone and regaled us with her hyper-pornographic version of "My Way", well, I just wanted to hide behind Robert Downey, Jr's unconscious body. And, as we all know, I did.

And it's a good thing, too, because I have no idea where Ma got that paint-ball gun from, but those things really hurt.

Love,
Eunice

P.S. I'm sorry I didn't bring a card or a check.