Some marginal advice on selling eggs, hot sauce in the condom and being the other woman.
You know how giving advice is really easy? But taking advice and faithfully abiding by it's hard? That's why I prefer giving it. Every few weeks I scour the online advice columns and rebut the advice they give. It's good for everyone because dissenting opinion is what makes democracy great.
One of my all-time favorite advice givers is the Seattle Post-Intelligencer's Carolyn Hax. She's way more on the Oprah side of things than the goll-dern Dr. Phil side. This time around the other woman wants to know if she should wait for dude to leave his wife. The other woman basically provides no more information than that her boyf is married and she really digs him. Carolyn Hax gives the standard advice, i.e. don't wait for him and there is a good chance that he'll cheat on you if you do get together on the legit.
Fair enough. But with so little information, how can you really be sure that this will be different? Hmm? What if this is true love? What if they're soul mates? What if he really plans on leaving wifey once this economy turns around or after Jen and John get married? With so little info, we'll assume too that this guy's not leaving his wife and will probably keep on philandering if he does get that divorce. But what if he doesn't? You may have the death of true love on your conscience, madam. For my part, I'd insist on a timetable for him to leave the wifey. No one likes ultimatums, but even fewer people like being the other woman. Of course you don't want to break up a happy marriage, but happy left the station a long time ago, sometimes you just have to salvage a miserable situation any which way you can.
I don't necessarily love his advice but I do love Cary Tennis' ability to go on and on and on. It's like watching Federer and Nadal bat some kind of ball to and fro for hours. Anywhom, this time around Salon's longwinded advice-ador has to advise a young woman whose fiancé has been pouring hot sauce in his used condoms (so-called scumbags) to kill the sperm. Before we get into it, she should probably thank Buddha that he's not pouring Texas Pete on the outside of his jammies. Agreed?
Cary Tennis begins by telling a story about Hemmingway's upbringing, shifts gears into a great recipe for veal parmigiana and then moves right into the theory of relativity. At last, he advises that the woman ask her dude to go for some kind of OCD therapy and figure out if it's a mental condition or a trust issue (the hot sauce spermicide). Also getting a relationship mentor might help. On the second part, good call. Relationship mentors are a great idea. On the former advice, making your marriage conditional on his OCD treatment at this stage in the game is a little dangerous. Clearly, dude has some obsessions, but on the plus side, you know he'll never leave the iron on when he leaves for work. On the for real, all you can really do is tell him it bugs you and it's weird (again, the Tabasco sprinkling). If you're up for it, you can get on some kind of birth control and forget the whole condoms issue. (Seriously, do married couples use them (prophos)? That's part of the charm of taking the plunge. Unless someone has a serious condition, disease or proclivity.)
Slate's Prudence gets a toughie. A somewhat destitute couple is thinking about selling the woman's eggs to make ends meet. Heartbreaking. But old Prudie sets 'em straight and provides a ton of resources for info on both the physical and psychological implications of donating (selling) female gametes.
How would you handle being the other woman, Cajun Sunshine as spermicide and the egg saleswoman?