Dishing it out, hug withdrawal and getting boned
Dear Rachel,
I hate doing dishes. I know, on a rational level, that if I did them every time I ate a meal, I would be done in about four minutes and never have the stress of unwashed dishes. But I don’t do them after breakfast, because I need to get a start on my day. And I don’t do them after work because I’ll just have to do them again after dinner. Then I don’t do them after dinner, because there’s too many. How can I make enough money to hire someone to do my dishes?
– Sink, Sank, Sunk
Dear Anti-Diver,
How meta is this! The old-timey advice column in the Tele used to be written by dishwashers. Or at least that was the pretense. Because really, who worse to ask for advice than someone who washes dishes? Well, it turns out the answer is “someone who never does the dishes.” I figured that out years ago, when I broke a lease because my roommate literally never did the dishes in five months. I couldn’t live like that. I hope you turn your life around before you become like her.
– Suds up,
Rachel
Dear Rachel,
I just had my first hug in over a year. My not-quite-elderly neighbor is officially vaxxed up, and even though I’m not, she asked if she could hug me. I did it for her, but I’ll be honest… it was me who couldn’t let go. I need to know: how can I let go of the guilt I feel for breaking all the rules and loving it so much? Also, did I endanger either one of us with my tears? Is that a thing?
– Hug Me Tender
Dear Hug Me Do,
You got to soak it in. Maybe you’re a rebel, but at least you’re a consensual rebel. Let’s get through this, and we can all get us a little not-quite-elderly love. Oh, and I imagine you’re both fine, so long as no one licked up the tears. But don’t take my word as gold. I’m not Dr. Rachel, and if I were, I’d probably be that one in five who doesn’t recommend sensible health practices.
– Take two ibuprofen, Rachel
Dear Rachel,
I know several people with cow and deer and horse skulls on their walls that they just found lying around somewhere like pennies in the McDonald’s drive thru. I spend literally half my life in the outdoors and the only bones I’ve ever found were left over from someone’s bbq rib lunch. What are people doing that they find dead animal pieces so easily – and then so casually display them in their living rooms?
– Bones About It
Dear De-boned,
We manifest our own realities. If you think about bones, you will find bones. If you think about cheese sandwiches, you will find cheese sandwiches. If you think about never doing dishes ever again, you will find yourself living alone, unless you count mice and an indefinable stench as companions. So it’s time to assess where your energies are going. Me? All I can think about now is barbecue ribs. I hope that comes to fruition, and soon.
– Roll them bones, Rachel
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