WHAAAAAA PUDDIN’

I was reading one of my favorite magazines the other day which happens to have an advice column.  Now, I don’t normally care that much about advice columns, I rarely agree with their recommendations (shocker).  And usually these women’s magazines have questions about how to handle nosey neighbors or cook a perfect roast (I am, not so shocking, interested in knowing the latter) but this particular question was seriously the most ridiculous thing ever put in an advice column…ever.  And, I’m paraphrasing here, but it goes a little something like this:

                My in-laws want me to dress casually when we see them twice a year, and I’m kinda a dressy girl, what should I do?

Are you kidding me right now with that????  This is your problem?  This beat out other actual problems to make it into a national publication?  This problem?  This problem of right here?  What were the other submissions that month? 

I can just picture all these fancy editor types around a fancy conference table in a fancy city like New York having the following conversation:

“Considerations for this month’s final advice column question, are as follows.  Now, we have the rest of the submissions so it’s down to the last three.  We are doing important work here people, make it count!”

1. Bitsy McMarriedrich from Memphis wants to know how to relieve earlobe pain caused by her massive diamond earrings.
2. Penny von Nevereats from Chicago wants to know where the best place to find size “00” jeans.
3. Fancy Sonspantserson from St. Blacktie wants to know what she should do about her in-laws judging her fancy dresses when, well, they are more of a ‘jeans and t-shirt’ kind of family.

Editor: “No, yes, absolutely right…We HAVE to go with number 3…our readers just MUST know how to solve this one!  Gripping stuff here folks…making periodicals, that’s what we do! Damn, we are smart…Martinis for everyone!”  (Yes, that’s how all magazines get to print).

Let me respond to your problem, Fancy Sonspantserson…You don’t HAVE A FUCKING PROBLEM!!!  Seriously people, when did THIS become a problem.  Here is what you do, Fancy Sonspantserson:

Step 1: Rejoice in the fact that you only see your in-laws twice a year!!! 

Step 2: Wear whatever the hell you like, who gives a shit, you see them TWICE A YEAR!

Now, I love my in-laws…we ALL love our in-laws!  Before ya’ll come over here and burn my house down.  My point is…this chick doesn’t have a problem.  Apparently, she doesn’t have ANY problems if she is writing a national publication and asking them what she should do about how her in-laws feel about her dressy outfit choices.  This chick should, instead of writing an advice column for advice, should be WRITING the column!  I will gladly take her advice any day! And, I’d like to start with the following questions:

1.  What do you eat to have a perfect body so that the only problem you can’t solve is that your in-laws think you dress too nicely?
2. How do you earn your millions of dollars so that the only thing you have to worry about in life is that your in-laws think you are a bit fancy?
3. Where do your in-laws live?  Close?  How do you get away with only seeing them twice a year?  You must NOT be southern, nor your in-laws.  No southern mother-in-law would EVER allow a twice a year visits!!  The horror!!  My mom makes me feel guilty if I haven’t seen her in a WEEK!!! A WEEK!!!  My in-laws literally live within walking distance. 
4. What’s your husband like?  Mine, he sees his folks at least 3 times a week, he lived with them when he was in college…you can imagine what that does to a person (please see above regarding our home’s proximity to my in-laws).  I didn’t even live with mine during high school!    
5. What kind of fancy dresses do you wear to your in-laws?  Is it like you are wearing a sequin ballgown and mom-in-law has on a velour jump suit, or a mumu?  Or, are you in a stripper dress and she’s sporting Laura Ashley?  Or you are in one of your old bridesmaid dresses and she’s more of a cut-off jeans kind of woman? 
6. Can I come to your perfect house and observe your perfect life?  I enjoy living an imperfect life, but it would be interesting, from a scientific stand point to observe a perfect marriage.  I’m WAY to busy having fun to be perfect.

Seriously, I REALLY do wish this woman well, and I truly do love the magazine in which this appeared, but I think we all need a smidge of perspective.  The trend of this nonsense appearing in an advice column in a national magazine geared toward college educated women is just further proof that we all just need to shut the hell up and quit our bitchin!  I mean, please!  Ya’ll, I swear to Buddha, if one more woman bitches to me about some stupid ass trivial problem, I am going to D.I.E.  This is getting out of hand.  Please start sucking it up now.  The rest of us regular people are tired of you complaining about problems, when you don’t actually have real ones.   Why don’t you go ahead and Google North Korea while I wait, you need to see what real problems are.  Also, while you’re at it, read up on Crimea or, even closer to home, the state of our own nation.  These.  Are. Problems.  You getting a scratch on your 50K car is not.  See the difference? 

DO NOT misunderstand me, I get pissed when there is a scratch on my less than 50K car, but I try to keep it in perspective.  Sure, I love to bitch.  It is, in fact,  my favorite sport.  I excel in it.  If there was an Olympic team for bitching, I’d be the captain.  I learned from the master, my father (who by the way hasn’t gotten his hip replaced despite 10 years of degenerative damage because if it didn’t hurt, then he wouldn’t have anything to bitch about).  But, I see my bitching as a way to entertain my minions, my bitchings are funny and not to be taken seriously because I’m making light of the fact that we all bitch about the dumbest shit! I know where my next meal is coming from and I also know where I will lay my head tonight and go earn a wage tomorrow.  I have an awesome hubs and two aliens who are masquerading as canines living in our central heated and aired home.  See where I’m going with this?  When someone gets in an uproar, my usual response goes, “Is this a life threatening situation?  If not, then calm the fuck down”. 

So, today, I say, let’s all agree to make a consorted effort to let the little things not become the big things.  Let us all not die on the hill of having to wait on hold for 7 ½ minutes before that guy from halfway around the world helps you fix your internet connection, sort of, because even though his name is Steve, he can’t speak English worth a shit…but that’s another story.