The Perfect Life #2

Dear Dr. Perfect,

My ex-wife has asked me to take care of my children during Super Bowl weekend, when she (my ex-wife) plants to recover from heart enlargement surgery. I have been invited to my weed salesman’s Super Bowl party, featuring BBQ, Hooters girls, a poolside Jumbotron, and 45 different strains of sativa. How can I persuade my purveyor of the ganja flower that my children will not be a detriment to the festivities?

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Dear Superfan,

Your dilemma reminds of an anecdote about a diplomat’s wife caught between writing his speeches and having a life of her own. She visited art galleries in her spare time, taking a special interest in the works of Andy Warhol and wondering how a man became rich with paintings of Campbell Soup cans. But we all know that it wasn’t just the paintings themselves that made Warhol a household name. He had tapped into the vapid zeitgeist of popular culture at the right time and place. You must find your purpose as well.

How can you simultaneously balance responsibility and irresponsibility? If successful, you might just have the time of your life. A functioning alcoholic does this quite well, until cirrhosis kicks in. The Super Bowl is a pretty big deal. I too find myself glued to the television, pretending to remember who won the playoffs so that I can root for the most impressive team amidst the haze of banal commercials, cheap beer, and halftime shows.

It would seem that SB parties are a mere excuse to gorge upon fatty foods and attack alcohol. Why not? The holidays are over, and most of us are reeling from the deep depression of a new year. I can think of no better way to celebrate. But I just might pass on this year’s big game to save myself the additional melancholy of empty stands, cardboard cutouts, or whatever the hell the league has planned. Tom Brady’s surprise move to the Buccaneers was a sign of the changing times. My bookie now says that Tampa Bay are a shoo-in at fifty to one odds. But I haven’t bet since losing on the Dolphins in 1984. These days, it’s just emu races for me.

Let us delve into your dizzying issue. Your ex-wife is an ex for a reason. I make no judgements here. I’m assuming you’re a great disappointment to her. Now, having been thrust back into bachelor life, you’re saddled with some kids and a kick-ass party to attend. Your concern for your weed dealer is commendable, and there is no way any man would turn down a party of such caliber. You had me at Hooters girls.

Your children shouldn’t be an issue. I’ve been to plenty of gatherings where the kids were relegated to some bounce house or playpen while the adults got sloshed. Tell your weed dealer that they’re not narcs. Tell your kids that they’re going to their new uncle’s house to watch the Super Bowl and to respect the Hooters girls by the pool. You can easily mediate between the two camps without issue.

I’m actually beginning to wonder if this party can truly live up to the hype. I’ve been disappointed before. 2020 was a terrible year, but we might have just as many bad years ahead.

This is all the more reason to attend the party! You would need to be some kind of miracle dad to pull it off. Mrs. Doubtfire is a good example. She/he made it work and had us laughing in the process. Be prepared to switch between dad mode and bachelor mode quite often. Enjoy the festivities, partake in the cannabis, and have the kids in bed by midnight. After her recovery, your wife will hear about everything, so have your stories ready.

Your kids won’t understand why their dad was so spacey, and they don’t need to know. This is what we rubes call, blowing off steam. High society types wouldn’t understand it, nor would the blue noses or any noses, for that matter. You’ve got a Jumbotron and several types of sativa at your disposal. If you’re like Uncle Buckin the pivotal scene before taking his niece and nephew to bet on horse racing, you would decide to be the responsible adult and not take them at all. But this isn’t a John Hughes comedy, this is real life! If nothing else, my sister can babysit the kids. Just pick me up on your way to the party.

Dr. Perfect has slung advice across the globe for the last two decades due to his dedication to the uplift of the human condition.

The Perfect Life #1

Dear Dr. Perfect,

Three months ago, I married the most wonderful man. He was completely supportive of me keeping my name after our wedding. My mother-in-law gave us Versace tableware that costs more than my car. The problem is that she had them monogrammed. My husband and I actually share our first two initials, but since I didn’t change my name, the last initial isn’t the same. So the monogram is in his name, not both our names.

When we have my in-laws over for dinner, my mother-in-law gets upset that we don’t use the tableware. I have told her that we are waiting for a special occasion, like Thanksgiving, but really, I am horrified that my mother-in-law assumed I would be changing my name. I am horrified that my mother-in-law spent six figures on plates and bowls, and with the wrong monogram. I am horrified that my mother-in-law thinks that we don’t value her gift. What am I to do?

Horrible daughter-in-law

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Dear Horrible Daughter-in-law,

You’re not horrible. You’re just confused like the rest of us. One can only speculate what crossed your mother-in-law’s mind when purchasing gifts so lavish as to make you feel financially inadequate. In-laws express themselves in various fashions.

She might have chosen the most expensive tableware on planet Earth to not only remind her son who “mama” still is but to send a veiled message against the skirting of tradition you’ve so flagrantly engaged in. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with maintaining your surname. A recent US study suggests that twenty percent of recently married women kept theirs for numerous reasons. You’re clearly not alone in this despite the constant reminder on every Versace plate.

I understand the aversion in using the tableware, as doing so would honor the very stigmatizing gesture thrust upon you. Your in-laws don’t seem like bad people, and you describe your husband as “wonderful.” I’m happy to hear that. This is a crisis of etiquette. You don’t want to make an issue where there is none. But by using the plates, you’re giving in to what could very well be a calculated move to demean your personal decision.

Or perhaps your mother in-law simply overlooked the last name issue. Perhaps she isn’t Hitler incarnate but a woman who wanted to treat her son and new daughter to the fine china. Monogrammed plates are a very deliberate move, though. You’d have to have a PhD in the psychology of in-laws to understand her angle. Fortunately for you, Dr. Perfect has that precise PhD.

Invite the in-laws over for tea and crumpets. That’s what we called it back then. My parents forced me to, and we weren’t even British! Or invite them for filet mignon. The point is, use the plates. Have the table set and show them that you have no reservations. Your mother-in-law, let’s call her Nebulous Nancy, might see this as a victory. Her victory plates are on display for all to see. That’s when you subtly leave some mail in the middle of the table with your full name in clear view.

Make sure your guests are seated, and make sure that she sees the envelope. Apologize and remove the mail, placing it on a nearby counter. Study Nancy for signs of distress or annoyance. Casually return to the kitchen and “accidentally” drop a plate onto the floor. Your guests will be no doubt startled. Sweep up the broken glass and apologize profusely to your husband for breaking one of “his plates.” Say it twice if you have to. Something like, “I’m sorry, they had your initials on them and everything.”

Return to your guests and resume hosting. Compliment the gift, while also distancing yourself from it. “We just love the new tableware,” you’ll say, as you suddenly knock over a wine glass. Quickly wipe up the spill with your newly monogrammed dish towel that has your initials on it. By then, Nancy’s head will spin from trying to figure out what the hell’s going on.

These situations usually call for some brandy in the end. I don’t care for the taste, but it’s a classy drink, and your guests will love it. After all the tea and crumpets and filet mignon and brandy is consumed, you should feel the matter settled. Leave your mother in-law with a clear reminder that plates can be broken, but family can be broken, too.

Dr. Perfect has slung advice across the globe for the last two decades due to his dedication to the uplift of the human condition.