Dear Prego (Or Why I Don't Write Advice Columns)

DEAR ABBY Prego:

My mother says I'm tearing our family apart. On Mother's Day, my 8-year-old daughter teased her 9-year-old cousin, asking who'd like her last bite of dessert. When he said he wanted it, she said, "Just kidding!" My nephew went running into the house wailing like he'd been hit.

I was in the middle of telling my daughter what she did was wrong and she should apologize, when I heard my brother, "Harry," ask my nephew why he was crying. My nephew said my daughter had teased him over the dessert, and Harry said, "Well, she's a little bitch!" I was horrified. My daughter and sister-in-law heard it, too.

When I went inside to talk to Harry, he told me he didn't mean it that way and that he could say anything in his house that he wants. My daughter and I left, and I haven't talked to him since.

He has apologized to my daughter with numerous justifications for what he said, but he hasn't apologized to me for what he called my daughter and the way he talked to me. We have had two family birthdays since then (including another at my brother's), and my daughter and I haven't attended either one. My mother is taking Harry's side, saying I'm too sensitive and the word isn't that bad. Am I wrong to think that calling an 8-year-old a "bitch" is horrible, degrading and uncalled for? -- SISTER OF A TRASH MOUTH

DEAR SISTER: Probably not. But your brother has already apologized to the "injured" party for what he said, and he does not owe you one. I'm voting with your mother. You have already punished yourself and your daughter enough by missing out on the family birthday parties. Enough, already!

Dear Sis':
Man, can you hold a f*cking grudge. No wonder your daughter's a little sh*theel. My sister used to pull that jive-ass move... only she'd lick the last piece of cake, instead of saying, "Just kidding." On one occasion I said, "F*ck it. What's a little saliva among siblings," and wrestled the last goddamned Ho Ho ® from her chocolate-coated meathooks. It was a little soggy, but it hit the spot.

Now, onto your bid'ness. Rather than purse your lips and trot off to the trenches, fight fire with fire. Tell my nigga "Harry," he's right - she's a bitch. You might want to add that he's raising a mealy-mouthed p*ssy in the process. He seems to have cobbles himself, putting you in your place in his crib, but what's with putting up with the sobbing 9 year old? Time to tape the little wuss to the garage door and fire hockey pucks at him.

On the plus-side, I'm sure your husband appreciates sitting out the chafing family functions, but you seem like such a (here's a word that might 'horrify' you) cooze, you probably have him scrubbing your menstrual panties instead... a job "Harry's" kid will invariably land when he ties the knot.


Prego


Donny B. of Everything in Moderation hosts this week's on the topic of advice columnists. Does having a bad day result in bad advice? What if they start losing their patience, like the guy at the amusement park who's been asked a thousand times where the sh*tter is? Stop by for a good read.

Also, apologies to Steven V. Funk for shirking my roundtablin' duties last week.