Slate magazine publishes what Sherlock Holmes used to call an agony column, “Dear Prudence”.* I don’t know if today’s entry is the best ever, but it’s awfully good: “Help! My husband’s mistress hit me in the face with a rock!”
I was in a bar once, and a guy at the bar who was chugging Long Island Ice Teas like they were ice teas was bemoaning his situation. His girlfriend, it seems, was in jail (I never found out why): “She wants me to bring her her mousse! She’s in prison and she’s living better than I am!”
My life is such a picnic.
*Confusingly, “Prudence” is really named Emily Yoffe. Even more confusingly, “Help! My husband’s mistress hit me in the face with a rock!” is actually billed as “Papa Don’t Speak My father is threatening to tell my twins they were born after selective reduction”. You have to scroll down to get to the rock-wielding mistress. Definitely, things are tough all over.
