Hi Sars,

I’m not sure if you ever print updates from former letter writers, but just
in case here goes.I wrote to The Vine for advice in July, 2002 — “Would-be
Mommy.”Basically you told me what I already knew in my heart of hearts —
that it wasn’t going to work out.I separated from my husband about a year
later and we subsequently divorced.I went through a year of utter hell,
convinced that I’d never meet anyone, die alone and be found months later
with my face chewed off by the cats.

But, fast forward a bit when I decided to get back in the dating game via
the newfangled internet.I went on some dates with guys I wasn’t attracted
to, dates with guys who weren’t attracted to me, dates with guys that turned
into one-nighters, one two-month relationship that should have stayed a
one-nighter.But then one fateful rainy San Francisco night I met a guy for
a beer in an Irish bar and he has turned out to be the love of my life.He
is the brainy, smart-ass, silly, nerdy, artsy, sensitive, cute boy who likes
cats that I always fantasized about being with.Last week, on my 36th
birthday, after being together for a year, he gave me a set of keys and
asked me to move in with him.We’ve talked about marriage and kids — the
whole catastrophe.We just spent a great weekend choosing woodstain for the
kitchen walls and peeking over the fence at the neighbor’s kids having their
easter candy induced meltdowns and joking about how our kids “will be
different.”I know that it won’t be the ideal thing to be starting my
family in my late 30s but what can you do?The really cool thing is that if
the kid thing doesn’t work out, I still get to be with the best guy ever!

Anyway, I’m hoping that my story might help someone else stuck in a
relationship or marriage to face the facts, muster the courage and make
those painful decisions.I really do believe that we end up where we
deserve to be.

Thanks again for the boot in the ass,
Maybe Mommy, and that’s just fine with me!

Sars,

I’m going to try to do this as swiftly as possible.

I’m headed for bariatric surgery, which I’m really excited about, and
my parents are behind me and it’s really the best option, all things
considered. I’m sure about it. I’ve talked about it in therapy, I’ve
found a super-great surgeon and it’s really…it’s the thing to do.
There’s so much about my personal weight situation that would make
this letter like 17 pages long for why this is a good idea for me. It
just is for health reasons not for “I just want to be super-hot”
reasons. I’m diabetic (Type 1, the kid kind) and have an underactive
thyroid and some diabetic complications that make losing weight
genuinely more difficult than scaling Everest and sinfully easy to put
it on and FAST.

But as a question of etiquette: If someone you dated had something
like that done, or a close friend or someone you knew POST-surgery in
that kind of capacity, when would you want to know? I’m not planning
on introducing myself with “Hi, nice to meet you, I used to be HUGE”
but when would it be a time to out yourself?

And further, bariatric
surgery, because of how fast you lose, leaves some sagging while your
skin tries to catch up. It will tighten up with time (about two years)
and if not, it’s considered reconstructive surgery to have a tummy
tuck, one way or another you end up looking “normal” but uh…so my
sex life? When do I tell a new beau: “Oh hey yeah, I had major surgery
and now my skin hangs funny and that will go away but before
that…let’s do it.” I’m not with anyone now, so it’s not like I have
someone that’s going to automatically KNOW it will be there, I’m going
to have to say something.

People all have oddities, third nipples and
slightly webbed feet and funny patches of hair, but this seems like a
big one, especially taking into account my age. (In college, with no
serious prospects, so I’m not likely to find a future anything too
soon.) It’s not first-date talk, but third? Just before you get hot
and heavy? Keep your shirt on and the lights off and never say
anything? I’m happy about what this surgery is going to open up for
me, which includes an active lifestyle and yes, more relationships,
but I’m wary of how to explain the whats and whys of it to someone I
might just want to sleep with and not take over to city hall and
commit to. Any clue?

Thanks,
Mark Wahlberg has a third nipple, I bet he has lots of sex

Hi Sarah,

How would you deal with someone who is offensive and hard to work with in a volunteer situation? I am the president of a very small, all-volunteer non-profit in a small community. We work hard to ingratiate ourselves with the public to gain their support. Recently a man who is difficult and hostile but couches it in the guise of “oh, I’m just kidding, can’t you take a joke” has decided he’d like to be part of our group again (he was involved years ago, before I was part of the group). He seems to be the type of older man who relishes teasing people, especially younger women, which is not appropriate in our setting.

I would like to tell him to piss off, but of course can’t, as we have to maintain a good profile in the community. Some of the group have dealt with him before and know him personally, and say just to ignore his barbs. But I feel like what we do is hard enough already, why does this ass have to make it even more difficult! I have been taking the high road in my interactions with him, but it’s draining and stressful. Any suggestions?

(The kicker at our most recent meeting — he commented that he thought I was gay [which was not related to the topic at hand or our group in general]. When he said “oh, I’m sorry, did I insult you?” I replied that I didn’t consider that an insult [but I do consider it inappropriate and rude]. He said “I’ll have to try harder next time.” Ugh.)

I Don’t Understand People

Dear Sars,

I have a problem with my parents. Although not otherwise overly strict, they have one huge hang-up that’s harming our relationship: their fear of my driving.

I am in my 20s. During my sophomore year of college my parents “gave” me a car but forbade me to drive it on the highway (in Houston, this translated to “pretty much anywhere except between my apartment and school”) until I graduated college. My freshman year, before I had a car, my father encouraged me to find rides on the “ride board” for trips back home — they were fine with any old stranger driving me around, but I myself was not permitted on the highway.

As I aged, they became slightly more permissive: I was allowed to drive home to Austin if I had a friend in the car with me. However, they always tried me talk me into flying home instead, which I usually resisted (the drive takes two and a half hours, the whole process of flying takes over three hours and is much less pleasant, what with the tiny little seats and the freezing cold air and the seat-neighbor crowding and sneezing all over me), but often gave in.

My drives home have always been accompanied by neurosis and condescension. Once, when preparing to return to college from my spring break visit home with a male friend, I caught my father begging my friend to “take over” after letting me drive a few miles of the trip. When I confronted my parents, my mother replied that “boys are better at driving on the highway than girls.” Sars, this friend had only a few years before fallen asleep driving, totalling his car in a roadside ditch, and regularly drives over 100 mph. Another time, I came home to discover that my mother had decorated my room with large pictures of gruesome car wrecks; she said they were there to scare me and I was forbidden to take them down.

You’d think that I’d been in a horrible wreck or something, but I’ve never been involved in anything worse than a parking lot door ding. In all my life my parents have been in one airbag-deploying-grade accident, and no one was hurt (this was well after the car neurosis with me began). I have no idea where this comes from.
I still live in Houston, and whenever I make plans to visit them, they insist that I fly. For many reasons (planes are bad for the environment and it’s a waste of time and money as well as uncomfortable to fly), I tell them I don’t want to, but they don’t listen. I would take a bus home, but my mother flies into hysterics at the mere mention of it, claiming buses are full of child molesters (though I’m old enough to be a child molester myself!). Ironically, my mother is deathly afraid of planes and regularly drives hundreds of miles to visit her hometown, and refuses to travel overseas, something she longs to do, due to her fear of flying.

This is a major thorn in my side; I feel like they have no respect for me as an adult at all. What’s worse, I find that their neurosis has rubbed off on me: I catch myself asking my boyfriend to call me when he makes it into work safely and fretting over the safety of his ancient car. What should I do?

Transportationally Impaired