So here it is... the final posting for our beloved Dear Brutal Truth.
I'd like to think that some day VH1 will come knocking down our doors for a very special behind-the-scenes look at the sheer artistry involved in writing our column for the last two years. (2 years!) But in the event that never happens, here's my DBT retrospective.
Favorite All-time Question:
Q: We have a front receptionist at work who has rank breath. She just...smells. And you know what she smells like? Her breath smells like she's just gone down on some chick. She doesn't have B.O., she's got V.O. And in the worst way. She's a really close talker and she's all up in your face with her stinky halitosis. The worst part is, she's the first person our clients see/smell when they come in the office. Everyone at work is trying to figure out how to politely tell her without hurting her feelings. Any suggestions? P.S. The woman is 70 and lives with her mom, so I don't think she's gettin' busy with anyone. Oh, and she won't chew gum because of her dentures. I swear to God this is legit.
Runner Up:Q. Dear Brutal Truth- My dear, sweet husband is a great guy: caring, supportive, engaged and engaging, etc. He’s also sensitive (in the bad way) and leans toward sketchy self-esteem, especially in the superficial/physical category, i.e., he doubts he’s da bomb, which in my opinion he is. Here’s the situation, in the past week or so during the steamy part of our love life he has developed an excess of saliva, as in, during a kiss there is just too much spit being exchanged. I am SO grossed out and find the quickest way to end such exchange of love. My initial response was to say, “Gee-awd, what is the matter with you? An enormous amount of gooey spit is drooling out of your mouth into mine. Swallow, will you!” Of course, if I were to point out anything that resembled a flaw he would be crushed and it would take hours upon hours for me to reassure him that he is the man of my dreams.This drool is a big ick factor to me, and honestly, if it’s not stopped soon, I know that nine years of consistent and good sex will be down the drain, and once the sex goes, the marriage will follow. For the sake of my four precious children, tell how I can subtly convey that this problem exists and needs to be fixed.
Favorite DBT Hater:
Dear Brutal Truth,
I am not your friend, and I find you rather cheeky for dishing out advice so brashly. Perhaps we ought to let our egos take a rest? They get tired from time to time, you know.
Favorite Calling-me-on-my-shit-albeit-wrongly Writer:
Vanessa, your SXSW observations seem steeped in jealousy. I was curious if you considered yourself a jealous person? April, your observations seem more about inconviences. I will submit these to SXSW suggestions.
Favorite Guest Columnist:
Terry. Okay so he was our only one.
And that's it, my friends. Maybe someday there'll be a reunion tour, but we'd have to get paid a helluva lot more money (more than zero, I mean) and there'd have to be some publicity in it and all that. I'd like to think I'm that monk who quietly and altruistically makes shoes for homeless children in the darkness of night, but I'm not.