Dear Advice Columnist . . .

. . . E. Jean:

There’s only one way to answer your correspondent correctly, and you managed to miss it entirely — by a long shot. First the question:

At my father’s funeral, I ran into an old friend. We grew up together, his was the shoulder I cried on, and we ended up having sex. We’ve been doing so ever since—a year and a half. The problem is that during this whole time, he’s had a girlfriend, and I’ve been engaged to be married to another man.

Now, your answer:

Miss Caught, My Cauliflower: Halt! You’re marrying the wrong man. Marry the man with whom you fight “a hundred times” because you can’t cease seeing each other. Marry the man with whom you “can’t stop having sex.” Marry the man with whom you “always end up back together.” Marry the man your DNA is shouting for you to marry, and your chances for happiness are damn good. To quote the captivating Martin Amis, “Marry your sexual obsession: …the one you never quite got to the end of.”

Now, my answer:

Miss Caught, My Cauliflower: May I please have contact information for your fiance so that I can inform him what a big mistake he’s about to make in marrying a woman who’s been knocking boots with an old friend she ran into at her father’s funeral? I mean, the guy deserves to know you’ve been making a fool of him for a year and a half before he vows to make you his lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part.

What the hell kind of person does that to another human being? How can anyone with an ounce of moral integrity even need to consult an advice columnist on this question?

I would advise you to immediately return your engagement ring and confess everything to your hapless dupe of a fiance, but I feel I can safely assume that you can’t summon that degree of honesty or self-awareness. So, if you’ll just write back with his email or postal address, or his phone number, I will gladly contact him and inform him of just what kind of round-heeled slattern he’s about to attach himself to before it’s too late.

Love,

Walt

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One Response to Dear Advice Columnist . . .

  1. Kyle Miller says:

    A year and a half?! Skank.