Oh, you guys. You are sending me the most amazing, amazing letters. I feel so honored.
Here is my next column. More to come. Oh, your amazing letters. Keep ’em coming at firstname.lastname@example.org. Thank you.
Dear Bitter Butch:
When my husband and I were engaged he bought me flowers, huge amounts on my birthday (the day before Valentine’s Day) and Valentine’s Day. The other guys at work said he should stop making them look bad. I love flowers. He promised me he would keep doing it. In the twenty-one years since we got married he says he never knows what to buy me. I say ‘I love flowers!’ A couple of times when I whined, a lot. Really whined. He bought me a bouquet. Once my son made him do it. Is there any way I can get him to buy me flowers without feeling passive aggressive? Signed, flowerless.
Here’s how I really want to answer this letter: with a note to your husband that says: “Buy your wife flowers. What the actual fuck. This is not difficult or complicated. Buy her. Flowers. Today. DOOOOOOOOD.”
But he didn’t write me. You did. So I’m going to take your question at face value. Read the rest of my answer.
From Piecemeal Reviews:
“The short story, Belly, by Haddayr Copley-Woods, featured in the July/August issue of Fantasy & Science Fiction fascinates, disgusts, and digs into the brain of itself, conjuring magic within its own spinning yarn. With a hive of witches and an unsuspecting girl, Copley-Woods clearly uses fairytales as inspiration for Belly, but that’s simply a model for her larger themes: abuse and personal destiny. After I read Belly, I forced it into my writer friends’ hands, excited, hopeful, distracted and envious of what they would experience for the first time. Rarely does it feel like a crime to have something so remarkable not freely available for everyone to read.” Read the whole thing.
I have only wanted to do this since I was, say, nine.
Here is the first column! Please send me your crippy, queirdo, bitter, lovelorn, confused, pervy, and etiquette questions to email@example.com!
I will answer the living shit out of your questions! I will answer like you’ve never been answered before. When I answer a question, IT STAYS ANSWERED.
Dear Bitter Butch,
Should I hold the door for people in wheelchairs? It seems only courteous; I hold them for people pushing strollers. But it feels super awkward if they’re not right behind me and I stand there holding the door for like a minute and a half while they make their way up the ramp. Help! I don’t want them to be stuck outside, I live in a cold climate!
A: There is so much angst over door opening and wheelchairs! And now you’ve added freezing to death on top of it. Read my whole answer.
I was so honored and delighted to be among thousands of multi-ethnic people in Minneapolis protesting the Washington team’s horrible, hateful, racist nickname today, with my two young sons (their father has a broken toe, so he participated by providing very necessary drop off and pickup.)
I’ve been a little bothered by some of the news media describing traded insults between protestors and football fans. I didn’t see any of the protestors attempting to engage the fans at all. One Washington fan looked at my Tshirt that imitated their logo with “Rename” instead of “R*dsk*ns” and he opened his coat on this cold morning to grin at me and show his R*dsk*ns logo, leering in challenge. Do I need to point out that he picked the obviously disabled white woman to do this with and what sort of bravery that took?
I gave him a big smile and said: “Hello!” and he stammered and said, “Um, hello” and ran into the stadium.
That was the ugliest interaction I saw.
What it really was: many different nations of Natives coming together (with other supporters of all different races): Ojibwe, Sioux, Lakota, Dakota, Mexica, Ho-Chunk. Many more, I am sure. Those are just the ones I spotted. Speaking out about their culture and their suffering at the hands of men in Washington. Praying together for peace and respect. Singing songs, holding signs, greeting one another. Talking about how much this horrible racist nickname damages them.
A bunch of Vikings fans watching us as we gathered, many giving us thumbs-up. Some looking intensely uncomfortable but not engaging. Lots and lots of cops taking pictures and saying hello. Nervous-looking staff at TCF Stadium.
Thousands and thousands of us.