The Frinklin and Fred Show

Uncle Millie Has Risen!

As we (Christian "we"s, at least) take this weekend to celebrate the resurrection of Christ from the dead, it's time to celebrate another, far less holy resurrection. That's right, America's best-loved and best-lubricated advice columnist is back.

Uncle Millie fell off the radar screen for a couple weeks, after he celebrated St. Patrick's Day a little too vigorously. During his last go-round on this site, Uncle Millie's drinking binges had a built-in limit, in the form of Aunt Beatrice. She kept an eye on him, and was able (more or less) to cut him off when he'd had enough. Since she is no longer on the scene, Uncle Millie must rely on his bartender to know when to say "when," and the bartenders in Guadalajara appear to be unable or unwilling to offend their best customer by taking away his drinking privileges. At any rate, the upshot of all this is that Uncle Millie's overindulgence led to a truly epic hangover, from which he is just now emerging.

But why should I ramble on, when you're all surely eager to hear what Uncle Millie has to offer? Enough of my babbling, let's take a look at Uncle Millie's babbling... er, I mean, sage advice.

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A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words, And A Paternity Suit Is Worth Several Thousand Dollars, by Uncle Millie

Hello, lads! Your (somewhat) faithful correspondent has returned for another tour of duty on the front lines of the romantic battlefield. Thank you to all of you who wrote in, hoping that I had not managed to drink myself to death in celebration of my heritage. (Some of you wrote in hoping that I had drunk myself to death, which is unkind, but in the spirit of this Christian holiday, I forgive you.) As you can see, I am not dead, although I consumed a quantity of spirits that would have killed many lesser men. My hangover in the wake of those festivities was a truly epic experience. I happen to hold the high-score record for Breathalyzer tests in at least seven states and two Canadian provinces, but had I been tested after Saint Patrick's Day, I could have easily obliterated all my previous records. Had I in fact passed away, the coroner would have found blood in my alcohol stream. In other words, I did my ancestors proud!

My only regret about my legendary celebration and its aftermath is that it kept me away for too long from my true life's work, which is offering my counsel to you, lads, in the ways of the heart. I sincerely hope that none of you were too adversely affected by my absence. But I believe in looking forward, and I stand (or, more accurately, slouch) here at the ready, to provide you with the guidance and wisdom on which you rely, lads.

I did wish to add one quick note: Several of you wrote to express concern about my remaining on the same barstool for so long. You pointed out that remaining in the same place for weeks at a time is unhealthy and in fact dangerous. Rest assured, lads, that I have taken your advice to heart: I have risen from my barstool and gone for a walk! I walked all the way across the street to a neighboring cantina, as my prior haunt was experiencing crucial alcohol shortages, for some reason. I did have to pause mid-walk for a couple fortifying pulls on my handy flask, but I am happy to report that I feel better already, and I greatly appreciate the suggestion.

Now, let's take a look at our first letter.

Dear Uncle Millie,

Rick in Lansing

Ah, me lad, the disapproving family. A classic killer of relationships. I can sympathize with you on this score, lad: I have met the parents of many of the fine women I have dated, and despite my obvious charm, boyish good looks, and self-assurance, many of them professed a dislike for me. As in your case, lad, the root of their disapproval was prejudice. They held the bigoted assumption that, because a man has been married three or four or eight times, that this somehow means that he is bad relationship material.

I wish I could tell you that the situation will improve with time if you grin and bear it, lad, but hard-won experience has shown Uncle Millie otherwise. Alas, too many lasses remain in the thrall of their mothers well into adulthood. If your lady's mother hates you, sooner or later, your lady will too. You can take it to the bank. This is why I attempt to date only women whose mothers are no longer with us; it saves a lot of trouble.

But since you've already got the lass, and her mother is very much alive, how should you proceed? The most obvious solution would be to hire a large Italian gentleman to dispatch of your would-be monster-in-law, but sadly, the law in most states frowns on this arrangement. You can pray fervently for the old battle-axe to meet an unfortuante end, but in my experience, our Lord rarely answers those prayers in a timely fashion. Therefore, you have little choice but not to marry your sexy scientist, lad. I am sorry; she does sound like a delight.

However, this does not mean that you must jettison her altogether. If she is as wonderful as you say (as as wonderful in bed as you don't say but obviously imply), I suggest that you keep her around, but don't discuss marriage with her. You say you've been together for two years; if you play your cards right, you can successfully dance around the issue of marriage for at least another year, and enjoy yourself immensely in the meantime. And who knows? Perhaps you'll get lucky, and the old hag will have a stroke or something between now and then, and you'll be free and clear.

If you wish to avoid this situation in the future, I highly recommend that you stick to relationships based on casual sex, and thereby avoid the whole meet-the-parents scenario entirely. For now, I shall simply hope for the best for you, and the worst for her mother. Good luck, lad.

Dear Uncle Millie,

Todd was really pissed when he found out that Anne and I were seeing each other. He tried to convince me to stop seeing her several times, winding up in a long and angry argument over lunch, which ended when I walked out. We’ve talked about it more since then, and he says he’s okay with it, but I still feel like things are strained between us. When Todd and I get together, I feel like sometimes he’s about to go off on me. He hasn’t said anything bad about Anne and me since that angry lunch, so maybe it’s in my head, but I feel like there are some unresolved issues.

My question is: What do I do about him? We grew up on the same street, and we’d always been tight, but he always seemed a little jealous of me. With me dating his ex, it’s like it was the last straw. I always wanted Todd to be my best man, but that’s out the window now, which feels terrible. Do I try to keep our friendship alive or do I give up? Should I invite him to the wedding?

Ernesto in Phoenix

There's nothing worse than having to choose between your lady friend and your best friend. Your lady friend can provide you with faithful companionship in rough times and a bouquet of delights both carnal and sublime; your best friend can provide you with a steady stream of free alcohol and a couch to sleep on when your lady friend catches you in the midst of extracurricular activities. When a situation such as this arises, it's a tragedy.

One phrase in your letter caught my eye, though: "he always seemed a little jealous of me." This, I believe, is the key to the puzzle. Normally, men who feel jealous of their friends take to bird-dogging them, stealing the lasses out from under their friends' noses. In this case, it's the reverse; he had her, lost her (obviously, she broke up with him, no matter what he says - if she didn't, why would he care?), and is now trying to make sure you can't enjoy the fruit of the trees he so recently sampled.

This is a delicate situation, to be sure, but you must treat it with a battlefield mentality. You may be telling yourself, "Don't worry, this will blow over in time. If I keep treating him nicely, sooner or later he will come around and be happy." This is a nice thought, but it is false. Your "friend" is out to destroy you and your happiness, and you must defend yourself. If you don't, then one day you and your new wife will be relaxing on the sun porch, reading the comics, and her cell phone will ring and it will be your old buddy, telling her all the details about that time in Puerto Rico with those prostitutes and the mechanical bull, and she'll be on the phone to a divorce lawyer faster than you can say, "What happened?" You must protect yourself.

I suggest that you start now, planting hints with your lady friend that "Todd" cannot be trusted. Nothing blatant; be subtle about it. For instance, in the middle of a conversation over dinner, you might casually slip in a comment such as, "Todd doesn't seem like himself lately; I'm afraid his drug habit is getting worse," or "I really hope I won't have to put him back in the institution again," or "Did I ever mention that Todd enjoys having carnal relations with sheep?" Just something to plant the seed in her mind that all is not well with Todd. Make a big show of your concern, and just keep turning up the heat. Hire a private investigator to "prove" that Todd is purchasing heroin, or produce some doctored photos of Todd enjoying himself in the barnyard. By the time your former friend comes up with the bombshell that will derail your happily-ever-after, she'll believe in it about as much as she believes in the Easter Bunny. Trust me, lad, a stitch in time saves nine.

All this advice is invalid, incidentally, if you actually did bird-dog Todd and take away his lady friend. If that is the case, you are a disgrace to men everywhere and deserve to be beaten to death with sticks. If you're going to steal another man's lady, show some class and steal a stranger's lady.

Dear Uncle Millie,

Ashamed in Asheville

I'm sorry, my dear, but I'm a little baffled by your question. Do you honestly believe that, if you revealed your sordid past to a potential gentleman friend, he would be turned off by this? You actually managed to be married to a man for some number of years, and you still harbor this unfortunate delusion? How terrible for you. Fortunately, Uncle Millie is here to set you straight.

Believe me, my dear, any gentleman worth his salt would not be in the least put off by your past. To the contrary, he would likely find it most exciting! A kinky past like that, and you're a school teacher? Do you realize how many men harbor naughty-teacher fantasies, my dear? You are the woman of every red-blooded American male's dreams.

Now, Uncle Millie is certainly not suggesting that you blurt this out over the shrimp cocktail on the first date. Certainly not. That would be inappropriate. Besides, it's much more appealing if it seems like he has to pry the information out of you. But be not afraid, my dear. If you have been trying to conceal this information from your gentleman callers, you've really been holding yourself back. If you trying revealing your past instead of concealing it, I guarantee that you will never be lonely again. The truth will set you free!

That concludes the letters for this installment of my column. However, I did wish to close with a message to the erstwhile Aunt Beatrice. My good lad Fred tells me that you have not attempted to contact me since I returned to the advice-giving business. Although I have said nothing about this so far, the truth is that I am more than a little saddened not to have heard from you.

We had our ups and downs, my love, that is certain. Nonetheless, despite my carping, I always appreciated the companionship and structure that you brought to my life. When I needed someone to stand by my side and guide me through the choppy seas, you were there. While we were together, my life ran much more smoothly. My bills were all paid on time. I was able to remember most of my children's birthdays. I spent surprisingly little time in the custody of the authorities. And I never had to flee the country.

Had I known the fate that awaited me, I never would have left your side at the Super Wal-Mart where I lost you. There are a great many things I miss about America, but it's you, my dear, that I miss the most. Well, perhaps second to good Irish whiskey. But a close second, I assure you! I hope to hear from you soon.

To the rest of you lads, get yourselves some keister for Easter! Happy hunting!