Dear Abby

Written in 2011. A short story.

In every publication there seems to be that section, that one troublesome section that attracts the attention of few and yet consistently manages to maintain its position and status. In the case of the Riverdale Review, that pesky column was Dear Abby, and its position was just after the obituaries and just before the local advertisements. Abby herself (well, technically her name was Miranda, but she waved it off as a mere technicality--after all, her middle name was Addie, and that, she reasoned, was darn well close enough) had been writing her own letters for years. It saved her the hassle of responding to the obscure ponderings of whiny middle-aged hags with marital problems and sex-crazed teens lacking even the most basic forms of self-control and common sense, and allowed her to invent her own dilemmas, and solve them accordingly. It was with a certain amount of annoyance from Miranda, therefore, that one day in late August an actual letter, from a man no less, was delivered to her office. She sat down to read it, despite her apprehension, and by the third line was completely and totally intrigued.

Dear Abby,

The other day I was driving by a farm and I saw a cow that looked exactly like my wife. I nearly crashed my car into a pole because of it; it was that bad. It was just standing there, staring at me, baring its big old teeth at me and smirking; I’m telling you, this cow was my wife.

I haven’t always seen my wife in the faces of random farm animals. In fact, if anyone used to resemble an animal it was I. A big fat pig, maybe. My wife was more of a peacock or something pretty and exotic and unattainable. We met in college; I was completely shocked when she spoke to me. You have to understand, I was a total loser. I was fat, got bad grades, and basically just didn’t care much about anything. It was simply luck that my wife even noticed me.

But isn’t that what always seems to happen? One minute everything’s okay and the next you’re seeing your wife on all fours at the side of a road, with spots and nostrils the size of tennis balls? I guess the question I’m trying to ask is, am I going crazy? And…is it so wrong that I regret marrying her in the first place?

From,

Udderly Confused

Miranda read through the letter, paused, then read through it twice more in quick succession, not sure what to make of it. On the one hand, the letter was humorous, but on the other…on the other she sensed a certain desperation. She understood the man, though she herself had never experienced anything similar to that which he described. Miranda had been married for some time now, to a man with a good job and a kind heart. She had been lucky to find him, and this sort of letter made her appreciate their solid relationship all the more.

After another moment of thought, she opened a new document in Word and began to type a response to the man.

Dear Udderly Confused,

It is perfectly normal for a husband and wife to drift apart after any number of years. It is also perfectly normal to associate your spouse with an animal such as a cow, however this does not mean that you should continue to do it. What you need to remember is that communication with your wife is key, and that in order for anything to be resolved in a marriage, it is crucial to discuss things with her. You need to speak to her as soon as possible, and try to work out for yourselves where the problems in your marriage lie. Only then can you ever hope to live happily together.

Good luck to you,

Abby

After submitting both letters to her editor, she packed up her laptop and all of her papers and headed out to her car. She grimaced when she saw it; it was so dirty, with little bits of grass and mud clinging to the bumpers and the rims of the tires. Sighing, she got in and made a mental note to have her husband clean it over the weekend.

The next day, another letter was waiting for Miranda when she arrived at her office. She had taken the morning off, to spend time shopping for a birthday gift for her husband. She knew just what he liked, so it didn’t take long to pick it out; what had taken long was finding a necktie that exactly matched the deep red of the argyle sweater.

She could tell immediately that the letter was from the same man, because the postage stamp had a picture of a cow on it. Impressed and pleasantly surprised by the promptness of her community’s postal service, she opened the envelope, eager to read his response.

Dear Abby,

Your response about ‘communication being key’ was absurd. I say this because, like the cow she so resembles, my wife does not understand what I say. She doesn’t listen, she doesn’t care"all she cares about are appearances. Everything has to be absolutely perfect for her; she loves to change things, especially people. Take me, for instance. Remember me telling you that I was a loser? Well, after she started dating me, things slowly began to change. She manipulated me into working out, into buying all the right clothes, into applying for jobs. Sure, those all sound like good things at first, but they’ve led me to a much more serious dilemma: now that I’m such a catch (and forgive me for saying what I’m about to say…I know it sounds incredibly conceited), I sometimes find myself wondering why in the world I’m still here. Here in this town, here in this house, here in this union built on her manipulations and my inability to say no.

Sincerely,

I don’t Even Know Where She Works or What she Does Everyday of Her Life

Miranda shook her head, frowning. If the last letter was humorous, this was its opposite. His conceited tone, his inability to sympathize with his wife; these things were what frustrated her most about this stranger. She quickly began her response, the words flowing from her fingers and onto the screen in front of her.

Dear I Don’t Even Know,

My advice was solid. Communication is critical. If you don’t even know where your wife works (how is this even possible?), how do you expect anything good to come out of your relationship with her? You need to learn to respect and listen to her, and soon she will learn to do the same.

Best Wishes,

Abby

Shaking her head, Miranda once more sent the exchange to her editor and packed up her things. She considered the man, and his wife (for whom she was feeling more and more sympathetic by the hour), and their relationship woes, and then she considered her own marriage once more. She knew her husband listened to her, though not always intently, and she also knew that he loved her, worshipped her even. And why shouldn’t he? It had been Miranda who had initiated the relationship. Miranda who had always done her best for herself and her husband.

The next day went by without further communication with the man. Despite the lack of correspondence, Miranda could not stop thinking about all of his letters, and a sense of unease was running through her. She hated when letters came, real letters with real relationship problems, because they made her question her own shortcomings. Shaking these thoughts aside, she left the office and went to her car, as she did every day. She opened the door and got in, without starting the engine. She opened the glove compartment, craving the comfort of a minty stick of gum, and froze. Inside the glove compartment was a sheet, a single sheet of stamps.

One stamp was missing.

She took out her cell phone, and with shaking hands dialed her husband’s number.

“Hello?” He answered. “Miranda? Is that you?”

“Yes! Or should I say, MOO.”

“Miranda…what’s this about? Are you okay?”

“There are stamps in the car that you drove! Cow stamps!” Her voice was high, like it always was when she was angry. There was a long pause on the other end. He had to be playing dumb, she thought.

“Yeah…they were on sale.”

“Well you can stick your stinking cow stamps up your...up your self-righteous, egotistical--”

“Woah. I have no idea what you're talking about. Just calm down!”

“--A*S!” Miranda slammed her phone shut, breathing hard. She closed her eyes for a moment, let out a growl, and then started her car. She would show him. Thoughts of retribution moved swiftly through her head; filling his car with cow manure should do the trick, she thought.

It was unfortunate that she was so angry when she pulled out of the parking lot. Had she not been distracted by her emotions, she might have spotted the single letter that had fallen out of her mail box.

Dear Abby,

I took your advice. Last night I talked to my wife; she’s a secretary at a doctor’s office, can you believe it? I never even knew. Thank you for your advice…I hope it serves you just as well. And you were right; communication is key.

Yours Truly,

Billy Little

Reviews

[Shimmerbliss/CAF]

This was a great read. Well written and kept my attention all the way to the fabulous ending.

[Samuel Dickens]

Excellent writing, quite entertaining and humorous.
Mis-communicating with the wife--now I wouldn't know a thing about that!
It looks like you left out a word here--"Miranda could not stop thinking all of his letters...."

[Alma Miller]

Thank you for the catch and the kind review! I went back and fixed it right away.

[Samuel Dickens]

I'm glad to have helped.