Dear Margo,
I never thought I would write to an advice columnist, but here goes. I’m a likable guy, except I’m starting to think nobody likes me. I don’t get it. I have a nice, natural smile. I waggle my head in a boyish, endearing manner. I wear cowboy boots (without lifts), even though I have degrees from Yale and Harvard. I mean, Nixon wore wingtips to the beach, and he became president! If I were planning on becoming even more likable over the next, say, four years, what would you suggest?
—Rizz-Free in Tallahassee
Dear Rizz-Free,
I am reminded of Robert Burns’s insight “Oh the gift that God could give us, to see ourselves as others see us.” That you are considering that nobody likes you suggests there may be validity to this aperçu. Just sayin’.
You mention having two top-tier Ivy degrees. I do not know your background, but on the off chance you were not to the manor born, it is likely you are dragging around a boatload of insecurities. (Allow me one guess: you are not tall.)
As for Nixon on the beach in wingtips, he did become president, it’s true—but that did not end well.
Dear Margo,
I’m appealing to you because there’s something I deserve, something I’m entitled to. But even though it would be the best thing for our country, there’s a chance I won’t get it because a well-organized, well-vaccinated cabal doesn’t want it to happen. Can you help? Or are you “one of them”? Signing with a pseudonym because I’ve never wanted to trade on my name. (But, between us, it’s a good one!)
—WTF Jr. from Camelot
Dear WTF Jr.,
Actually, I am one of you. That is, I had a name I could have traded on but chose not to. Had I done so, I would not have been taken seriously. The real-deal people earn things; they do not “deserve” them.
As for the “well-organized, well-vaccinated cabal,” I must confess that I am married to a doctor and have ties to Harvard Medical School.
Dear Margo,
I’m an accomplished woman, in line for a position I totally deserve—except there’s a man (unqualified) who is probably going to get “appointed” instead. I’ve been at least as craven and hypocritical as anyone in my profession, but … nothing doing, not as long as this man is in the picture!
Does praying for some kind of deus ex machina—a criminal conviction in federal court, say, or a fatal cheeseburger, or tripping tragically over his tie near the edge of a high stage—make me a bad person?
—Can’t See a Way Out in Charleston
Dear Can’t See a Way Out,
Your wish for a fatal cheeseburger or a criminal conviction does not make you a bad person. (And I admit to liking your scenario of falling off a high stage.) Wishing harm on your opponent, however, may be a substitute for acknowledging, to yourself, that you may not be the right person for the job either. Something to which you should give a think.
Dear Margo,
Folks, my fellow Americans—includes you, Margo, you bet—here’s the deal: I’m 81. That’s not hyperbole. And I know I’m 81, so that counts for something! My question is: Do you think that’s old? Because I’m not going anywhere. Why should I? Got a hell of a lot of experience. Wisdom. Fire in the belly. Fire. You know, lightning struck in a pond behind my house once, went up the conduit, caught fire underneath the floorboards. And it was summer. Air-conditioning on. Smoke that thick. Fire company was there to save the cat, and my ’67 Corvette. True story.
—Scranton Joe in D.C.
Dear Scranton Joe,
I can tell from your letter that you are a truth-teller, because you’ve demonstrated that you leave nothing out. You put me in a bit of a bind re: the age thing, since I am 83. I must admit I regard myself as old, and the two-year differential between us does not make you not old. Forgive the double negative.
The important consideration is capability, not the number of rings around the trunk. The POTUS whose name rhymes with “lump,” while younger than both of us, seems never to have had much in the way of judgment, integrity, education, mental stability, decency, dignity, understanding of his job, respect for his job, knowledge of his job, etc. So don’t stew about your age, old buddy, and know that smart people won’t, either.
Dear Margo,
Why am I even writing to you? I am a six-foot-three, 215-pound, very stable Genius that knows more about Advice than anyone in the history of this Country. And I’m too busy Working for the people to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN in spite of LEVELS OF PERSECUTION NEVER SEEN BEFORE IN OUR COUNTRY by DERANGED THUGS to get advice from you. So forget it.
Hey, wanna buy some limited-edition gold sneakers?
—Autograph Withheld (Pending Payment)
Dear Autograph Withheld,
I don’t see a question here, but the self-congratulatory sentiments, not to mention the excess capitalization, suggest you might benefit from a rest. There are some lovely, well-staffed facilities. You could look into Silver Hill in New Caanan, Payne Whitney in New York City, or the Menninger Clinic in Houston. Should you favor warm weather, Beachside Rehab is in Palm Beach County, if you know where that is.
Margo Howard wrote the syndicated advice columns Dear Prudence and Dear Margo. She is the author of Eat, Drink and Remarry: Confessions of a Serial Wife
George Kalogerakis, a Writer at Large at AIR MAIL, worked for Spy, Vanity Fair, and The New York Times, where he was deputy op-ed editor. He is a co-author of Spy: The Funny Years and a co-editor of Disunion: A History of the Civil War