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Friday, February 4, 2011

Well, Take Hosni Out of Power and Scrub Me In the Shower; It's... DEAR APRON!

Ever eat five beef Taquitos for dinner and, not twenty minutes later, let out farts that smell like sour dead elderly ladies?

Me neither.


My husband has been talking about many married couples who take showers together. In fact, he claims that most couples do. Our relationship in the bedroom has been great so far, and I'd like to keep it there. I don't want a twosome in the bathroom. Am I wrong to enjoy my privacy in the shower? -- SQUEAKY CLEAN IN NORTH CAROLINA


I don't think the question is "Am I wrong to enjoy my privacy in the shower?" (Of course you're wrong, dumbdick-- everybody who writes to me is.) I think the real question is; how the hell does your husband know what "most couples do" in the shower?

I'm worried about that fucking guy. And, if I were married and lived in North Carolina, I'd make sure the shade in front of my bathroom window is drawn.



My younger sister, "Janet," and I are very close. We live near each other and have many of the same friends. My problem is, Janet likes to share stories about our childhood, and our childhood was horrible. We were poor and homeless more than once. Both our parents were on drugs, and our father was abusive to our mother.

I have tried telling my sister that when she shares these stories, I not only find it humiliating, but also find myself reliving the awful experiences. Her response is to remind me that we're not those kids anymore. She doesn't think it's anything to be ashamed of. Is she wrong to tell these horror stories that involve both of us, or do I need to stop trying to forget? -- NOT LOOKING IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR


Dude-- you should thank your lucky blow that Janet is just sharing stories about your charming and festive childhood to your friends. If I were Janet, (and, aside from the high probability that both of you were born with AIDS I'm kind of bummed I'm not) I wouldn't just be telling our friends war stories from the back of Mom and Dad's rusted out Chevette with bud between the seat cushions, I'd write a fucking crazy-ass book about all that shit and send it to Augusten Burrough's agent.

And I'd dedicate it to you, just to hot-piss you off.


When my daughter was 14 months old, she had a serious accident while under my parents' supervision. They were not negligent. What happened could have occurred if I had been there. I rushed to the hospital, where we stayed for five days and, thankfully, my daughter recovered.

I was shocked and hurt that my mother never once apologized. When I brought it up, she said it's obvious she feels terribly guilty, that I know how devoted she is to my daughter and, therefore, an apology is ridiculous.

I know it wasn't her "fault," but I still feel the right thing to do in that situation would have been for her to say, "I'm sorry this happened. I wish I had been more observant." Is this superfluous? Are my feelings reasonable? -- EXPATRIATE NEW YORKER IN SAXONY, GERMANY


You know, I am SO GLAD that you mentioned, through your clever and not-at-all clunky and unwieldy pseudonym that you are an EXPATRIATE NEW YORKER IN SAXONY, GERMANY.


Because it's just so darn PERTINENT!

I can totally see how your being an EXPATRIATE NEW YORKER IN SAXONY, GERMANY has everything to do with your parents inserting your daughter head-first into a makeshift canon and then firing her directly into the mid-century modern glass table in the living room and then dousing her with feline urine and hairspray and lighting her on fire.

Your letter reminded me of a woman who wrote to "Savage Love" a couple of weeks ago, complaining that her boyfriend only wants to do her doggie style and does not partake in any form of foreplay to moisten the point-of-entry or generally make her feel like something other than, well, you know-- a dog. This woman also mentioned that her boyfriend has one hand missing, I guess, in some bizarre belief that Dan Savage would somehow ascertain that Stan Stump was a rough-entry kinda guy because of some psychologically unresolved trauma surrounding the loss of one of his hands.

No such luck. He saw right through that shit.


One of my sisters-in-law has a recipe for pancakes and puts in a secret ingredient. She got the recipe from a relative who asked that the mystery never be revealed.

Well, the relative died recently, and I'd like to know what the ingredient is because those pancakes are out of this world! Would my sister-in-law be betraying his request by sharing the secret? She says she made a promise and is going to keep it. What do you think? -- CRAVING THE CAKES IN FLORIDA


The secret ingredient, obviously, was hemlock.

Bon appetit!

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