Dear Amy: I’m worried. I met “Debbie” through work, and we became friends through our love of horses and our shared stupid humor. I’m 21, and she is 35. It was fun to find out that we have a lot in common.
This summer, we were sitting in her yard watching her two little kids play on their large porch, when her husband asked when Debbie and I were going to get up there and “dance” for him.
Ever since, he and I have gone back and forth with this charade of, “When are you going to dance for me?” Debbie knows about it, and she’s fine with it. She jokes about it too.
Debbie went with her mother and sister on a Christmas trip to Las Vegas a few days back. I then received an e-mail from him asking about the dancing. He wondered if he should put the kids to bed early or get a babysitter, asked how many “ones” he should get and wondered if instead of just dancing he could videotape it and sell it online so we can make money.
This almost makes me think he is serious! I would never do anything with him; I see his wife as a good and close friend.
I think of their children as my “adopted” niece and nephew. I don’t know if I should say something to Debbie when she gets back or keep this to myself.
– Not Fun Anymore
Dear Not Fun: E-mail him with a cc: to Debbie reading, “I thought this was a joke, but now it’s grossing me out. I would never do this and don’t think it’s so funny anymore.” If he was joking, he’s got a stupid sense of humor.
Even if he wasn’t joking, he may accuse you of being naive and not knowing how to take a joke. There are worse things. Let him explain himself to Debbie.
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Dear Amy: My family and I enjoy upscale restaurants. Unfortunately, our meal has often been interrupted by raucous, shrill and spine-tingling shrieks from tables of women.
If we were patronizing bars I might understand, but not in a four-star establishment. Management apologizes but does nothing else. Is there a solution?
– Disgusted
Dear Disgusted: I ran your letter past Phil Vettel, the Chicago Tribune’s restaurant critic, who says this issue is so familiar that his wife, Paula, came up with a formula: “The noise level of a table of women can be determined by multiplying the number of women by the amount of liquor each consumed (in ounces), divided by the sum of their ages. Thus, eight 22-year-old women consuming 4 ounces of alcohol each will have a noise factor of .181, whereas 10 32-year-old women drinking the same amount will have a noise factor of only .125.”
If this behavior is bad enough that management sees fit to apologize, then you should expect a manager to step in and at least attempt to control it. Instead of leveling an open-ended complaint to the manager, you should ask directly, “Could you please ask the women at that table to keep their voices down?”
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Dear Amy: A recent column on “Secret Santa” gifts brought back memories. When I was growing up, my mother’s family was very close. There were 22 of us cousins, and the aunts decided they couldn’t keep up with all the Christmas gifts.
So, like you, they drew names from a hat. If you had three children, you drew three names, etc. What I remember most of this tradition was how we children would wait to see who drew our names.
We always kept our fingers crossed that Aunt “Laverne” didn’t draw our name. If she did, we knew Christmas was down the toilet. She gave the worst gifts ever. We still laugh about it (and we’re in our 50s).
Aunt Laverne still isn’t too good at choosing gifts.
– Happy Holiday
Dear Happy: One reason to keep the gift lottery secret is to keep the kids in a state of painful anticipation, and to keep the “Aunt Laverne” comments to a minimum. But, hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?
E-mail askamy@tribune.com or write Ask Amy, Chicago Tribune, TT500, 435 N. Michigan Ave., Chicago, IL 60611.
