Every day, millions of bachelors become husbands through the institution referred to as “marriage,” with often disastrous results. Wondering whether she means it when she says “You don’t need to get me anything for my birthday”? Ask your Bachelor-to-Husband Advisor!
Dear Bachelor-to-Husband Advisor:
I got married to “Jennie” this past summer and was perfectly happy until she told me that the “rule” of her mom and dad was that her father was not allowed to burp or fart in her mom’s presence.
Fine, I said, no problem, seems fair to me as long as it’s a two-way street. Problem is, we have a “serving hatch” between the kitchen and the dining room, where she likes to eat with candlelight, soft music and et cetera. So last night I was passing through the pantry which is technically between those two rooms–after getting a second helping of knockwurst and sauerkraut–when I couldn’t help but let loose with a very “discreet” belch.
Well, when I made it to the table and started to tuck in to my food “Jennie” gives me a look that could have fried bacon crispy, if you know what I mean. “We had a deal!” she hissed, “and you just sashay in here like it meant nothing!”
Bachelor-to-Husband Advisor, I don’t think I did anything wrong. I have agreed to abide by your decision but “Jennie” has not.
Ewell Clayton, Lone Jack MO
Dear Ewell–
I checked with several etiquette reference books and am afraid I’m going to have to side with “Jennie” on this one. The only people who are entitled to a burp-belch (don’t make me go any further!) exception based on a serving hatch or “pass-through” or “kitchen hole” or “service window” or “passe-plat” in French or “Durchreiche” in German are those who occupy a related occupational position, such as servant, maid or butler. You can always cover for yourself by bringing a saucer with you and dropping it just as you emit gas from whichever bodily orifice you choose.
Dear Bachelor-to-Husband Advisor:
I like to think I’m a pretty neat and clean guy, and part of my routine is religiously trimming my toenails every Friday night. I mean I do it regularly, it’s not a real religion with worship services and an afterlife and tax-deductible contributions and what not.
Anyway, last Friday I trimmed my toenails just like I always do and invited my fiancee Ethel in for a cocktail before we went to Golden Grasslands Restaurants for the $1-off-lower-priced entree special they have. I wanted to impress on “Ethel” that I am very frugal and will be saving up to buy a home someday instead of my current place, which is up an external set of stairs over Oehrke’s Florist Shoppe on Seventh Street just off Albion, you can’t miss it.
Well, “Ethel” walks in, sees a stray toenail I overlooked and goes completely batshit. “You ask me over for a ‘highball’ and you don’t even bother to pick up your disgusting toenail flingings! This is no way to start a ‘serious’ relationship!”
I don’t think I should be crucified just because I missed one dang toenail. There’s a mani-pedi parlor in town but all the gals are Asian who refuse to speak English and as far as I know they are Chinese Communist spies.
Please let me know before next Friday, Ethel says she will give me one more chance.
Roy Lee Neidermeir, West Plains TX
Dear Roy Lee–
Toenails are sadly a part of life that all married couples need to deal with, and not reject out of hand–or foot! If you don’t want to pay sky-high pedicure prices, try my patent-pending long-handled toenail clippers–only $39.99 with mail-in rebate. Use them with your feet sticking through a window, but not a “kitchen hole” like that Ewell Clayton fellow up above, that will only make things worse.
Dear Bachelor-to-Husband Advisor:
I have been dating Lurleen Hammond who works the drive-thru teller window at First Farmer Savings for about six months. I have tried to “keep my cool” and not “come on too strong,” she got straight A’s in College Prep English and has let me know that she is not fond of “errant” quotation marks.
Fine, no problem, I have been biding my time for just the right moment, which I thought might be last Saturday night when she sang “It’s the right time of the night” when we left Dog ‘n Suds. She substituted “month” for “night” so I was encouraged.
I started to take her home like a gentleman would but she put her hand on my thigh and said “I have feelings for you.” She sees the passbook to my savings account whenever I make a deposit, so she knows I can support her in the style to which she’d like to be accustomed.
Anyway, I took her to my place and turned the key in the lock and when we walked in “Buffy” my pet blacksnake hissed a bit and Lurleen nearly jumped out of her skin. “There is no way I’m spending the night with a snake!” she said and stormed out to my car so I had no choice but to take her home.
I don’t want to be forced to choose between Lurleen and Buffy, she–the snake, not the woman–was with me through a lot of tough times when I could not seem to attract women because of a skin condition that has thankfully cleared up since I stopped using Lava Heavy-Duty Hand Cleaner Soap that I steal from work on my face.
Mack Watkurz, Ottumwa, Iowa
Dear Mack–
Life is full of choices, and as Bachelor-to-Husband Advisor I can’t make them for you. All I can say is, which is worse: a woman who may turn out to be a snake in the grass and want you to bust your hump to buy a godawful suburban McMansion, or a bona fide snake that you keep in a secure, low-cost species-appropriate enclosure?
I hope you know the answer with me telling you, but I can’t be sure about somebody who’d name a carnivorous, cold-blooded reptile “Fluffy.”