And eight years on, MM has fallen farther than any of us could have predicted!

Not so much snubbed in that crowd as… simply not acknowledged. Meghan was a determined social climber, not at all an attribute that find favour among members of the British upper classes, who’ve known one another forever.

That’s a perfect description of Rachel Ragland! About my oldest son, I used to sigh to my husband, “He had an oppositional day,” but fortunately he outgrew it. She never has.

It really was depressing, especially because my then-husband was so blithe about feeding the snake, even saving the act in order to entertain guests! We were both militant vegetarians, too, but evidently the snake’s needs were much more important to him than those of the mice.

This was just one example of our fundamental incompatibility. I was lucky to extricate myself, especially given that his family kept insisting that having a baby would “fix” our marriage!

It was only a passing thought, fortunately. My sons are in their thirties, and the oldest is the father of a two-year-old daughter and a son due in a couple of months.

Both are the fortunate result of IVF, and though my son and DIL live in a “safe” state, it’s awful to witness what’s happening to women’s reproductive options so quickly! And how some of those bastards gloat!

Decades ago, I never imagined parasites in the snake’s food! But then, I never again co-owned a snake: Once was enough.

I did notice that the warehouse-trapped mice were both smaller and much more alert and active than the great lummoxes I bought at the pet store. Upon dumping a free-range mouse into the snake’s terrarium, you could see it panic as “OMG!” appeared in the thought bubble over its head.

The pet-shop boys would just bumble around, seemingly oblivious to their fate until—Snap! Gulp!

Fake-abuelita, then. I understand your rage 😤 at having a giant fraud—oh, sorry, she’s so smol—cosplaying any type of Spanish-y identity, which she can remove as easily as her street-fouled chanclas!

My husband just brought home a bottle of magnesium, so clearly you communicated telepathically with him! Hope they work.

I’ve been fortunate to have access to some excellent medical care, but more than one doctor has said, “Some migraines are just intractable, and it looks like yours are, too.” I can tolerate opioids well, although that’s nobody’s idea of a best-case treatment scenario, including mine. I take ‘em because they work.

After meeting him in India, John Lennon said succinctly—I always hear Lennon’s voice here—“Mike Love is a jerk.”

Thanks so much for your suggestions, which I’m eager to try. I’ve given up hope for a “magic bullet” migraine remedy, but anything that helps is welcome. After more than a decade with a pain practice, I’ll be seeing a new doctor in a couple of weeks. I’m wary, but trying to stay optimistic.

I’m so sorry that you could feel that head trauma as well. It was completely dismissed when it occurred, as my Nparents showed a fake sunny face to the world. The one time I went to the police, the classmate (!!) of my father shamed me, harrumphing, “Do you want to ruin his career?!?” 🙄

This was near Los Angeles, I turned sixteen in 1971, and never worked sub-minimum wage again. That library job was a joy for me, as the librarians had known the kids they hired since we could reach the counter. They could take their pick!

I had to take the same pledge as the military “to protect and defend the Constitution and the County of Los Angeles…” By hitting them with the book cart? Dunno. But I worked there until the day I left for uni.

They have all those fruits and veg displayed appetizingly on the table, and they’re all blissed-out about their artificially colored sugar water. Bleahh! Every school “party” I ever attended in the ‘60s and ‘70s featured Hi-C, Kool-Aid, or Hawaiian Punch.

No wonder! Thanks for filling me in.

Lillian was a finicky eater, as snakes go. She refused defrosted, pre-killed mice, and would only accept a meal that was alive and lively. I don’t know if her habits ever changed after her own personal DoorDash moved away.

They do, and finish each other’s sentences like my husband and I do. I’m so glad they have each other, in part because his friend never married.

I underwent an incomplete miscarriage of a planned and wanted pregnancy, in a red state. At the ER, I received a D&C at once, which the doctor who performed it said would help safeguard my ability to give birth.

The oldest of my three sons was born the following year. D&Cs are ALL medically termed “abortions,” and yet many—like mine—are intended to prevent sepsis and death.

Unfortunately, Don Jr. and Eric Trump enjoy shooting exotic animals in Africa, posing proudly with the enormous dead bodies.

And best wishes to you, too!

My husband’s lifelong friend is visiting this weekend. They’ve been besties since preschool, which adds up to sixty-nine years!

She looks almost exactly like the Serbian woman with neurofibromatosis who was featured here the other day. If you hadn’t told us “Kaposi’s sarcoma,” I would have guessed NF.

My three grown sons only knew one set of grandparents, my in-laws. My dreadful parents stopped speaking to us shortly after my wedding to a man they insisted I “didn’t deserve.” But I was never, ever safe from abuse the first seventeen years of my life, and I knew my sons wouldn’t have been either.

Congratulations on the new baby, and keep doing what you’re doing. Be extra-good to yourself, because I’m certain you deserve it… along with your new, lower telephone bills!

I’m old enough now not only to reenact the attack on Pearl Harbor, but also to join Hell’s Grannies.

Fun fact: By dallying with Stormy Daniels (I believe her), Donald Trump managed to cheat on both his wife Melania, and on Karen McDougal, with whom he had a ten-month-long affair.

Donald Trump gave Eric’s wife Lara an extremely high-profile job for which the former model for “lad mags” is utterly unqualified. My guess is that Donald tells both of them, constantly, how much they owe him, and that’s why Eric’s appeared a few times in the courtroom.

I agree with Mary that her uncle is genuinely chagrined at the lack of MAGA supporters at the courthouse, causing him to recently import sycophantic spectators from Congress and the Senate.

I looked forward to those TV dinners, or the rare occasions they were permitted, because that tray held more food than my mother ever served at a meal. She preferred to save her calories for alcohol, which was hard on a growing kid who didn’t (obviously) drink. I was very lucky to be spared her eating disorders, with which my siblings struggle to this day.

When the toxic shock thing hit the news, my idiot sister ran all over town, buying up Rely tampons—the worst offenders! That was before my family went no contact with me, but judging from occasional “friend” requests from Facebook, she’s still alive.