We here on Planet Michelle have many unfulfilled dreams, such as learning to swim, to dance, to run away with a certain handsome sorcerer who captured our heart, soul and all parts in-between, etc.
But I am also a frustrated Advice Lady.
In my youth, I was fascinated by advice-givers Ann Landers and her twin sister, “Dear Abby” Van Buren. Those side-talkin’, black-bouffant-haired, tough Midwestern broads always had a zinger in hand and one in the holster. They were corny and charming and often, dead-on. (They also went to Do As I Say, Not As I Do University, as they didn’t speak to each other for years.) They counseled the nation for decades with their homespun phrases and no-nonsense outlook.
As I proceeded to grow in bra-size and experience, for some ungodly reason, friends and family began asking MY advice on matters. This was especially true in the workplace, where someone would ask me for advice on something, word would spread, and before you knew it, I was seeing “clients” on my lunch-hour.
Since my life was nearly-always in disarray, I found this highly amusing, but hey, sometimes it takes a screw-up to help others of similar ilk. You really can better-aid if U Been There. (Which is why I’d never go to a Catholic priest for marriage counseling, but I digress.)
Since I do have a bent for helping my fellow mammals, I recently put out feelers and received the following questions from amongst my local huddled masses:
Dear Planet Michelle: I’m not sure, but I think my husband, Richard, is cheating on me. I found suggestive texts on his phone from a “Brielle,” and lipstick on his briefs. Am I being silly? – Worried in Woodstock
Dear Worried: You’re pulling my chain, right? Unless Richard has a very short, nearsighted colleague who kisses hello in the company restroom and mistook his crotch for his face, lipstick on tighty-whities is not a good sign. I’d handle this in a, um, two-pronged manner. 1) Retain counsel and make sure your financial affairs are in order, and 2) Switch Dick from briefs to the new couture Depends. That should quell Brielle’s ardor.
Dear Planet Michelle: My husband wants to have sex every night. It’s become a problem. He’s a great husband in every other way – helps around the house, with the kids, he even likes my mother. Please advise. – Hounded in Hickory Hills
Dear Hounded: Let me get this straight. Your husband helps around the house, likes your mother, stays home after work and desires you on a nightly basis, and you’re complaining? Get your head out of your capri pants, woman, and hie thee to La Perla this instant! I want to see French lace thongs and I want to see them now. (And I’m sure he does, too!) Do you know how many spouses cheat? At least 80% – that’s right – two-thirds! If you lose this man to the woman next-door, the fault will be your own.
Dear Planet Michelle: My next-door neighbor doesn’t appreciate her husband, and I’ve become attracted to him. She even tells me that he wants sex all the time and she doesn’t. Knowing this is only making my attraction stronger. I’m thinking of gardening in a bikini when he mows the lawn. Help! Signed – LuAnne in Hickory Hills.
Dear LuAnne: Stop, drop and roll, baby – put out that fire! Boinking a neighbor’s husband is sleazy, in bad form and tends to attract firearms into the picture. You don’t want your children to have to tell people at your wake that Mama was shot while riding the neighbor-man. Seek sex elsewhere. Try online services like The Indiscriminate Harlot, Suburban Horny-Den or It’s Just Intercourse.
Dear Planet Michelle: Our 29-year-old son, Garth, is jobless and lives in our basement. He has a degree in Sub-Saharan War History. Any suggestions on how we can get him out and on his own? – Enough, Already in Algonquin
Dear Enough: The next time Garth makes a Starbucks run, hurry downstairs and pack a duffle bag with his clothes, hair product, I-Pad and MacBook. Come back up and nail the basement door shut. Immediately call Qatar Airways and book him on their next flight to Gaborone, Botswana. Then call Trivago and secure him two weeks at Gaborone’s lovely Masa Square hotel, so that he may get his bearings. This will not be cheap, but (A) it’s the best way to give Garth hands-on use of his degree and, (B) it’s cheaper than him draining away your 401Ks. I’m sure the Bushmen of the Kalahari will welcome him.
Dear Planet Michelle: Often, I am sad and lonely. Why can’t I connect? Will I ever find my soulmate? – Bereft in Broadview
Dear Bereft: Oh, my darling. I wish I knew. Other than finding a good shrink and maybe a good anti-depressant, I can suggest only three things. (1) Find one small thing that you love and do it daily – writing, music, talking things over with your pet, even enjoying an excellent cup of coffee. It buoys the soul. (2) Get involved in something you enjoy, where you can meet other humans. I know that’s the last thing you want when you’re depressed – when you want only to stay home, eat and sleep – but if push yourself just a bit, you might be pleasantly surprised at the outcome. (3) Pray each night to see tomorrow. Just hang on for one more day. Everyone who found their soul-mammal lived many, many days beforehand without them. Who knows – today may be your day!
Trust your God, the Cosmos, the Universe – whatever you anchor to. It loves you.
For what it’s worth – I do, too.
You KNOW, this doesn’t have to be just a fun blog post. Not that I’m any big expert or remotely qualified, but if you have a problem you’d like to run past me, E-mail your question and I’ll do my level-best to help – or at least, shoot you in the right direction: planetMichelle4U@gmail.com
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