Ask the Betsy Dispenses Advice about Life’s Little Problems
Dear Betsy:
We live in a condo with no garage for our car. My husband, who fancies himself an automobile mechanic, insists on changing the oil while the car is parked on the street. He stores the old oil in the coat closet by the door. There’s gallons and gallons of used motor oil in the closet and the place is beginning to smell like a service station. He says he’s saving it in case of another OPEC oil embargo. Every time the bridge club meets, everyone wants to know what the smell is. I just shrug my shoulders and ask, “What smell?” What should I do?
Olive in Ottsville
Dear Olive:
Your husband is a motor oil hoarder. Believe it or not, this is actually a recognized disease that doctors study, though its name escapes me at the moment. It has no cure. Ask the bridge club to meet at someone else’s house.
Dear Betsy:
Every Sunday morning, my wife and I take my mother-in-law to breakfast at the local diner. Everyone knows us and we have a great meal. Only problem is, throughout the meal my mother-in-law is stuffing pieces of cutlery, sugar packets, and even sometimes serving dishes into her giant purse when no one is watching. It’s hard to believe, but so far I don’t think the nice family that runs the diner has caught on. What should we do?
Worried in Warminster
Dear Worried:
Use the McDonald’s or Burger King drive-through and take Granny to the park for a lovely breakfast al fresco. Don’t forget to dress warmly. Spring is not quite here yet.
Dear Betsy:
I bought my cat one of those endless-loop DVDs that has fish swimming in an aquarium. My cat Bouncer is so cute. She watches it endlessly, so I moved her bed, food dish and litter box in front of the television. Only problem is when I want to watch the news or see what that loathesome Donald Trump is up to, Bouncer gets very upset and claws the couch, the curtains, the carpet, anything she can get her claws into. My curtains are in shreds. Also, the gurgling sound from the fish tank is driving me nuts. What should I do?
Looped in Lawrenceville
Dear Looped:
Get Bouncer her own television and DVD player and turn the sound down.
Dear Betsy:
Our 26-year-old son was recently fired from his job at a fast food restaurant. He won’t say why. Now he has moved back into his old room, plays heavy metal music all day and night, and smokes who knows what in there. The only time he comes out is to raid the refrigerator. He says he’s not interested in looking for a job and getting some more education. I shudder at the thought, but is it possible that we have a twixster on our hands? If so, what should we do?
Baffled in Barbertown
Dear Baffled:
Yup, you’ve got a twixster. Sociologists who invented the twixster say that they often find their way and move out by age 35 or 40. Relax and enjoy once again having your loving son as a daily fixture in your lives. Someday you’ll be complaining that he never calls and never comes to visit.
Dear Betsy:
For years I have eaten dinner every night with my three toy poodles in my lap. They are very well behaved. Recently, my wife banned them from my lap because she said it was unsanitary. She won’t budge. So now they sit at my feet and whine during dinner. I miss them terribly because it was very convenient to have them lick my fingers instead of using a napkin. What should I do?
Lonely in Lambertville
Dear Lonely:
Leave the doggies on the floor and learn to lick your fingers yourself.