Dear Captain Obvious: I’ve been spinning in my watery grave since the day I realized that my daughter is nothing but a simpering, spineless, mealy-mouthed dishrag. I have observed her in life and in death being used by one man after another and I just can’t believe what I’m seeing. Many a time I’ve tried to slap some sense into that girl but whenever I do my ghostly hand just goes right through her. Dammit! It sucks being dead. How can I help my daughter? Frustrated.
Dear Frustrated: Unless they’re giving out self-esteem in the afterlife I don’t see what you can do to help her. Some people are just destined to be doormats. just accept it and move on.
Dear Captain Obvious: They’re at it again. Standing off to the side chatting discretely amongst themselves. She, grinning like a maniac with her hands stuffed in her pockets while he looks down at her warmly. Why aren’t my feet moving? Why can’t I just go over there, grab the back of that weave and smash her head into the wall? I want to scream, “He’s my man, bitch! Not yours, mine!” But my mouth won’t open. So instead, I stare. I will burn holes into them with my eyes. That’s right, I’ve got my eyes on you. Can you feel it? No? You’re not even looking my way? You couldn’t care less, could you? Oh, well, that’s okay. I’ll be over here waiting like a good little lapdog until you’re done making googly eyes at another woman. Contemptible.
Dear Contemptible: I hate to see when a good woman like you is taken advantage of and clearly not put to good use. If I were your boyfriend I would stop this madness and turn you into a handy footstool at once. That way, I would give you the satisfaction of being included in my conversations with other women while resting my aching feet.
Dear Captain Obvious: I broke up with my fiancée and married another woman practically overnight (with the same ring I might add!). It’s a little fast, I know, but I lack decorum and common decency—which is apparently happens when you’re raised by kangaroos and dingoes. As can be expected my ex is beside herself with hurt and yet I can’t help but twist the knife of betrayal into her back deeper by popping up to her home unannounced to crush what was left of her will to live. Truth is I still love her, that’s why I do it. What can I say? The heart wants what it wants. Heartbreaker.
Dear Heartbreaker: That’s right, the heart does. Crazy heart, it makes us do all sorts of horrible things. Hey, since you’re kicking her while she’s down why not ask her to shine your shoes? It’s the least she could do. No, seriously you should be ashamed. What would your dingo say?
Dear Captain Obvious: I haven’t always been the sharpest tool in the shed, but what little brain I did have was completely removed the day after I married my second husband. Independent thought? Phooey. My ideas and thoughts come from whatever my husband downloads unto my hard drive and I can honestly say I’ve never been happier. Now if I can only do something with my hair… Stepford Wife.
Dear Stepford: You again with the hair problem from Issue No. 16? Why not just cut the whole head off? Nothing to think with and no hair to comb. Problem solved.
Originally published: Aug-31-2008
