Hi Auntie Becky!
I hope you don’t mind my calling you that because I see only one aunt on my mom’s side because of distance, and the relatives on my dad’s side of the family except for my Uncle Steve and his wife Heather consider me the spawn of Satan. I also have one honorary aunt and uncle. So I have three people who allow me to call them “Aunt” or “Auntie.”
I would consider it the utmost honor if you were to contemplate being my fourth aunt I’m allowed to claim. My twin brother is allowed to claim the 13,000 or so (I would say 144,000 except that they’re Mormons and not Jehovah’s Witnesses) on my dad’s side, so your inclusion would help to even the score between my brother and me ever so slightly. Please don’t agree to be my twin brother Matthew’s Aunt Becky because absolutely nothing would be gained in the name of approaching equality if you were to do so.
I told you a convoluted story earlier that I assume reached your site (primarily because someting to the effect of “your message has been received” popped up after I clicked on the “ask” button) concerning multiple fractured bones, an attempted sexual assault, a broken prom date from last year, and another proposed prom date for this year. (If for some reason the message did not reach you, consider yourself lucky. It’s a truly depressing saga.)
I’m a bit unsure as to the format for receiving answers. Are questions addressed in your regular column on a more or less weekly basis, or does it happen more randomly, or do the replies appear somewhere other than at this site?
Are you able to answer most of the questions submitted to you, or are you so inundated, as was the late “Ann Landers” AKA Esther Pauline Friedman Lederer,*** that receiving a reply from you is a “luck of the draw” sort of thing, the odds of which are the approximate equivalent of getting one’s hands on one of Willie Wonka’s much-coveted golden tickets?
If I seem not quite in possession of the few faculties I ordinarily possess, it is because a therapist at my inpatient mental health treatment facility just gave me Klonopin because I had an especially vivid and persistent flashback nightmare. I’ve been granted access to my laptop while we’re waiting around for the Klonopin to kick in and have its usual effect of making me fall asleep.
I usually can’t have my laptop between the hours of 11:30 p.m. and 6:00 a.m. I’m not usually under the influence of mood-altering substances because my psychiatrist believes that the figurative demons that haunt me are best treated with forms of cognitive therapy.
He prescribes drugs only for extreme situations. An extreme situation is defined around here as one in which the staff manning the main desk between the hours of 11:30 p.m. and 6:00 a.m. are required to put down their People magazines, smartphones, or TWIGHLIGHT novels and deal with problems we adolescent***** patients are experiencing.
We are expected not to experience problems during these graveyard hours. We’re supposed to be asleep now so that the facility can maintain a light staff during these times and so that the staff who are inconvenienced by having to work these hours can be compensated for the incovenience of working the graveyard shift by being free to use their Smartphones, to read their books or magazines, or to sleep at the front desk in relative peace. They should not be supervising or dealing with crazy adolescent***** patients during these hours.
If we had any manners or any sense of decorum whatsoever, we would have the decency to schedule nightmares, flashbacks, and panic attacks between the hours of 7:00 a.m and 10:45 p.m.
The reason I am pestering you at this hour, in addition to the simple fact that I can, is that I am sincerely interested in seeking your opinion regarding the advisability of accepting the prom date offer that has been extended.
The boy who invited me deserves a timely response. This does not mean, of course, that either your customary schedule for the delivery of replies or your usual method of selecting which questions merit responses should be altered in any way. My emergency is not inherently your emergency.
If there is, however, a way I can be informed as to the likelihood of a forthcoming reply, as well as the time and site at which said reply might arrive if indeed my question is selected to be adressed by you or your staff of worker bees, such would be highly beneficial both to me and to the boy who was kind enough to extend the prom invitation.
This is, of course, assuming the prom invitation was extended sincerely and was not just one more big fat joke created for the purpose of making my otherwise miserable existence even more pathetic than it already is. The last comment, by the way, was facetious in part, although is also reflective of the level of paranoia that plagues me from time to time.
The boy is more nerdy than I, if it is possible to be more nerdy than I. The one thing in this whole mess of which I should be relatively certain is that his invitation is sincere.
Still, what should be and what actually are sometimes are not necessarily one and the same. The weird set of circumstances that have befallen me have caused me at times to question, sometimes jokingly but at other times with more than a hint or seriousness, whether the universe is truly out to get me.
In conclusion to this bizarre missive, which if read by any of those who have power to impact my course of treatment, may result in my inpatient treatment continuing until I reach the age of thirty-one, I have a simple request.
If you have an opinion as to whether a school prom is a place a person should go who was physically injured, had a prom date broken off as a result of the physical injuries, and then was physically attacked in an unrelated incident, with an attempted sexual assault thrown into the mix, followed by a brick projected through my bedroom window, the benefit of your wisdom would be appreciated.
If you find any or all of this difficult to believe, you are not alone. My therapist at this facility found the story so incredulous that she wouldn’t even take my parents’ words as adequate validations. My high school counselor had to vouch for the authenticity of my story.
Your loyal reader,
I should hope that I can adopt you, seeing as I think you’re not only incredibly hilarious, you’re Mormon, which means you might actually stand a chance at getting these tired bones into Heaven some day. And I will refuse Matthew’s request to be HIS Aunt Becky because, well, obviously.
I don’t generally have any order to the questions that I answer and unless the answer is something that eludes even my magical fingers, I answer everything I get. Eventually.
Also: I don’t believe I received an email from you before or I’d have answered it. Because we’re related and all that shit.
Should you accept a prom date after your hideously disastrous prom last year?
I say yes. Prom, I remember, was a lot of fun. Although, I missed one of the proms because I was too wasted to get there.
(this is me telling you not to drink or do drugs, lest you end up like Old Aunt Becky.)
That said, I can see how prom might bring up old memories and make you feel all flashbackish and that, of course, is no good.
So I think you must make a Pro/Con list and figure out if it’s better TO go than to sit at home and not go.
You can even COLOR CODE it.
(my inner nerd swoons)
Let me know what you decide to do. Hopefully, I’m not too late. I’d planned to write your question last weekend but was stuck, incapacitated on the couch, vomiting into a hat.
Pranksters? Any advice for our Prankster friend? Should she go to prom after a vicious assault last year?
Also: in an entirely unrelated question, what constitutes an “emotional affair?” I’m not asking for me or anything, I’m just not sure I understand the term and I want to before I answer a separate Go Ask Aunt Becky.