Our friends can be a source of companionship and understanding to get us through tough times, but they can also be a major pain in the you-know-what when they don’t return your curling iron or hedge trimmer. Finding the right balance is why people turn to “With Friends Like These,” where you’ll always find a friend.
Accept no substitutes.
Dear With Friends Like These:
I got married six months ago to a guy I will call “Duane” because everybody else does–call him that, I mean, not marry him. Three months later we had a baby, which it’s easy to criticize me for, I know. Anyway, the only person I confided in was my friend Doreen, who was also pregnant at the time. I thought she could understand and that it would be our little “secret.”
My baby has turned out to be just adorable, even though it is not Duane’s–it’s another guy’s, his name is Ronnie. Ronnie skipped out on me, so I took what I could get, which was Duane.
“I thought you were my friend . . .”
Now I want to enter my baby in the Safeway Super Market “Beautiful Baby Contest” for a chance to win $100 worth of groceries. Some of them you can’t pick out yourself, like the 1 lb. package of Roseland Lard, but I can use that anyway. When I told Doreen she says she was gonna enter her baby in the contest, even though frankly speaking her little girl looks like the Good Lord made her ugly and hit her with a stick.
Doreen has made a thinly-veiled threat to expose me and my illegitimate child to the judges. I don’t think that’s what a friend would do in the circumstances and would be interested in your perspective.
Cordially,
Jean Louise Sulkins, Versailles, MO
“You’re seriously going to rat me out over a couple lousy bags of groceries?”
Dear Jean Louise:
While I find it difficult to offer advice to someone who has made such a mess of her life, if I were you I would get a copy of the Official Rules to the contest and see if illegitimacy disqualifies you and your child. Under the Federal Sweepstakes and Mail-In Rebate Act of 2013, contest sponsors may not exclude entries based on sexual preference, and it appears that you prefer sex a lot.
Dairy Queen, where Tammy Lynn hangs out–a lot.
Dear With Friends Like These Lady:
Last summer I was chosen to serve as Miss Holcomb Valley Sorghum Queen for the coming year, with my reign to extend through July of 2025. In a weak moment I asked last year’s queen, Tammy Lynn Eberle, to lend me the tiara that her mother bought her to wear for ceremonial occasions, and she said “If you’ll let me borrow your turquoise capri pants to wear the night of the modified stock car race, okay.” I said fine, even though I am a size six and Tammy Lynn will never fit into a size eight again unless she is stranded on a desert island that doesn’t have a Dairy Queen.
When I got my pants back they were stretched out like a circus tent and I want to know if I have any recourse against Tammy. P.S. her dad is a Ford dealer in town so money is no object.
Enid Geist, Paducah, Kentucky
Before the rift.
Dear Enid:
There is an old saying–”Noblesse oblige”–which means that a member of royalty has certain obligations. One of those duties is kindness and mercy towards one’s subjects, even if they have bigger butts than you. You will no doubt put on a few pounds yourself during your term as you attend numerous ribbon-cuttings, Kiwanis fish fries and Lion’s Club Pancake Breakfasts. Let’s see what your figure looks like after a year of droit du seigneur.
Dear “Friends Like These”–
My husband Royal recently received a promotion at the poultry plant where he has been second shift supervisor for years. He is now assistant plant manager, and we are trying to move up in the world a bit by socializing with a somewhat ”nicer” crowd than before. We were thus excited to be invited by our local State Farm insurance agent to a backyard barbecue that included steaks or ribs, your choice. We were just glad not to have to eat chicken!
It’s gonna cost you.
At the end of what was a perfectly wonderful meal our host and hostess pulled out two baseball caps and started passing them around saying it was “time to pay the piper.” I was so taken aback I didn’t know what to do, as my husband had left his wallet at home and all I had was a twenty. Well, I threw that in the hat but I noticed nobody else came up with anything bigger than a five.
Friends Like These, I think this was an underhanded way to lower your total grocery bill, and was wondering if you have ever heard of such a thing. If this is what we can expect from our new “upper-crust” friends, we might as well go back to potluck with the poultry processors.
(Mrs.) Dianne Morton, Hollywood, Florida
It’s a salad within a salad!
Dear Mrs. Morton:
I think you have made the mistake of judging your friends based on what they’re worth, which always leads to heartaches. You should understand that there is a certain “initiation period” before the nouveau riche are accepted into polite society–usually two to three generations. Why don’t you and Royal reciprocate with a barbecue of your own, and make it clear in the invitation that your neighbors are to bring nothing more expensive than a jello salad. That way people will know that you’re not cheap, unlike a certain high-falutin’ insurance man.
Available in Kindle format on amazon.com as part of the collection “Take My Advice–I Wasn’t Using it Anyway.”