DEAR CRABBY: My misguided boyfriend and I recently broke up. It all started when we went to his cousin’s wedding a few months ago. You see Crabby, what happened is that his cousin has absolutely NO taste whatsoever. And I let it be known, creating a big scene and embarrassing my boyfriend.
I mean, the gowns the bridesmaids wore–Tacky, with a capital “T.” I’ve seen drapes in a trailer home that looked better. Green taffeta with orange shoes? Give me a break! Then there was the food, including that god-awful green-and-orange cake. And the green-and-orange flowers. And the green-and-orange place settings at the reception. Crabby, I could go on and on. Green and orange do not match! They should’ve used a much classier color combination, such as garnet and gold. Those darn Hurricane fans have no clue.
So Crabby, what should I, an FSU alumna, do to get my boyfriend, a UM alumnus, to see the light? – SEMINOLE IN SOUTH MIAMI
DEAR LOSER IN SOUTH MIAMI: You’re kidding me, right? How about FSU wins one lousy football game against UM first, then I’ll let you write back?
DEAR CRABBY: I met my fiancé “Greg” online. He lived in South Florida and I lived in New York. I moved down here to be with him.
But Crabby, I am so miserable here. It is incredibly hot, even in October. I miss the change of seasons. I miss the snow. I miss being able to wear my cool leather jackets and other winter clothes. I’ve asked Greg to move to New York with me but he refuses. Crabby, what am I to do? – FIANCÉE IN FORT LAUDERDALE
DEAR FRIGID IN FORT LAUDERDALE: You’re kidding me, right? Try warming up to your fiancé and Florida, and stop being such an ice queen. It’ll be better for your complexion, trust me. Besides, just think of how you can rub it in to your friends and family up north about how nice the weather’s here in January and February.
DEAR CRABBY: I am a 35-year-old single man. I run a successful import business. I believe I’m attractive. I work hard, I go to church on Sundays, and most everyone who knows me will tell you I am fairly easy to get along with.
So here’s my problem. For the life of me, I can’t get a second date with any woman I go out with. To be sure, I’ve been on countless first dates. I take my dates to nice restaurants, I buy them flowers, I hold the door for them, I’m a perfect gentleman.
The one problem I do have is something I haven’t figured out how to control yet and I’m wondering if this is the cause of my problem. You see, I have been told I have a strong body odor, although I haven’t noticed it myself. Could this be the reason I can’t get a second date and if so, what can I do to alleviate it? – PROSPEROUS IN PALMETTO BAY
DEAR PEE EWW IN PALMETTO BAY: You’re kidding me, right? I gagged when I opened your letter. In fact, I had to wear rubber gloves and a gas mask just to read it!
Try acquainting yourself with a bar of Zest or Dial once in awhile, and you might also consider using some Right Guard and either Old Spice or Aqua Velva while you’re at it. Seriously, I bet you have a medical condition. If I were you I’d go see an ear-nose-throat specialist because there’s something obviously wrong with your sense of smell.
DEAR CRABBY: I think your column stinks. Your advice is terrible, your writing is horrid and all you do is put down your readers. Who died and made you the arbiter of advice? What happened to The Humorless Twit? Why do you twist his arm to spout off in Flamenco? Who do you think you are? And when are you going to shave? I speak for all our readers when I say get your own publication and stay out of ours. – THE HUMORLESS TWIT, ER, I MEAN, HOSTILE IN HIALEAH
DEAR UNGRATEFUL NOT-SO-GREAT NEPHEW: Ha! You thought you could fool me and try to be anonymous, didn’t you, you ingrate? Here I am actually giving you a break from having to come up with something original (which, by the way, I’ve been reading, or rather, struggling through your recent columns, and calling them “original” is being extremely generous) and this is how you repay me? One day I’ll be gone and you will regret this! I will come back to haunt you and you’ll be sorry. I’m cutting you out of my will and no more Christmas packages of BVDs for you!