They write letters asking for advice. The cheating husband. The friends who show up at the beach house uninvited clutching three large suitcases. The well-dressed man who cuts ahead on the bank line. Cuts ahead at the museum ticket holders only exhibit. Cuts ahead at the grocery checkout, a grungefashionista who puts down 25 items, not 15 and the letter writer, a retired math teacher, knows because she counted. The sister who opens every drawer when she visits her can’t-keep-a-job brother, looking for evidence that Mom only wanted sons him and love actually was never in the cards. The brother whose wife forbids him to visit his parents with or without her and can’t seem to get over the childhood rape by the priestcousin even though it happened decades ago. The mother-in-law has too many letters. We will skip right over her. We try. But the mother-in-law is by definition tenacious. She writes about her move cross-country once the baby came. She was not invited but it was up to her son to tell her not to come. Not his stuck up wife who never tries to be pleasant. Who refuses to call her Mom like her son does. Who never acknowledges a gift not even when it contains many zeroes. Who still holds it against her mother-in-law after all these years that she didn’t come to the wedding after she heard her ex-husband was invited and would bring his much younger new wife. The mother-in-law has too many letters. We will may get back to her later if we have time. We move on. To the husband whose wife wakes up one day and informs him that she will no longer have sex but has no intention of divorcing him. Nor will she put up with any infidelity on his part. This last letter elicits the most comments from readers. About husbands who have let themselves go. Who have stopped showering daily. Who have long nose hairs and ear hairs and dandruff. Who are bewildered and befuddled by their wives sense of independence. The men have a long list of complaints about their wives too. They have gained weight or are too skinny, drink too much or are sober, chew with their mouth open or are too fastidious about table-manners, talk too much or never have anything interesting to say. The husbands have too many letters. Time to move on. To the advice we are paid to give. Our standard is see a therapist, either together or alone. We sometimes shuffle our advice like a deck of cards. Move out. Call a hotline for domestic abuse. Learn to say no. Learn to say no to the bossysnoopy sister. Learn to say no to the strayingprayingforforgiveness spouse. Learn to say no to the grocery store line jumpers. Learn to say no to the ingrate daughters-in-law, the myriad helicoptering-humblebrag-parents and the I waited-until-40-to-have-children ingratiatants. Learn to say no to the skipped over mothers-in-law and bemused husbands. But don’t say no too soon. Because we advice columnists need to feel needed. Keep those letters coming. And remember, learn to say no. Soon. Soon. Soon. But not yet.
Roberta Beary grew up in Queens, New York and identifies as gender-fluid. Currently, they split their time between the eastern US and the west of Ireland. They are fond of big little-dogs and Broadway musicals.