By Cynthia Kaplan and Karen Bergreen (with Otis, a Welsh terrier)
Happy Labor Day to all who celebrate. Your Ruthless Advisors have woken in the dead of night, because the air conditioner is broken and it is hot as Hades, to remind our readers of the true meaning of Labor Day.
This yearly national holiday is traditionally celebrated on the first Monday of September. But the festivities often begin in the days leading up to it, when people—mostly women, according to tradition—gather in supermarkets for festivities such as rolling carts around, stopping to toss food and paper goods into them, and nodding at each other as they pass in the aisles. When this sport has concluded, they form lines in which they rest against the handrails of their carts, read their phones, and hope to God they bought enough meat. While the women frolic in the markets, other people who, according to tradition, are mostly men, golf.
On the holiday itself, the shoppers meet again for another round of festivities, this time in the kitchen, where they boil potatoes and engage in heady debates about whether chopped egg belongs in potato salad. The highlight of the gathering is making 800 batches of brownies in a 350-degree oven in the late summer heat. At the same time, the golfers engage in a newish tradition called pickleball and work up an appetite.
At around 5 p.m., the shoppers/cookers carry heavy platters of food to the tables they have set with paper tablecloths and napkins, many of which are now on the ground, and the golfer/pickleballers, freshly showered, preside over the awe-inducing grilling of the meat. Some time later, as the holiday winds down, the golfer/pickleballer/grillers sit around and chat while the shopper/cooker/carriers, in the final act of festive gathering, clean up. Happy Labor Day!
Dear Ruthless,
Our dog, who has been going through some gastric distress, has occasionally pooped inside. He has a spot in the apartment he likes, which, thankfully, is not on the carpet. He’s a lovely older dog and I can’t get upset about it. My husband, on the other hand, makes more of it, and the other day my daughter reported that when I was out, he went to clean up some poop using a kitchen spatula. Our FRIED EGG spatula. She stopped him, but I just can’t get my mind around it, which I made clear to him. His response was a tetchy, “Well, I would have cleaned it afterwards.” I guess you are wondering if there is a question here. I guess it would be: After all these years of both marriage and a dog, does he not know me?
Signed,
Not My Spatula
Dear Not My,
CINDY: Sometimes our partners in life still have the capacity to surprise us. Sometimes delightfully, sometimes less so. I have found, through my own experience, that some partners/mostly men tend to overthink some of the most simple household chores, imagining a special tool is required. My husband, for example and speaking of spatulas, stirs pasta with a wooden spatula, knowing that there is no way he can serve the pasta with it. Why not start with the stainless steel pasta spoon from the beginning? The one with the finger-like ridges around the edge to hold onto the pasta? Unfortunately, there will be other spatula-like incidents for all of us. Try to keep your sense of humor. If nothing else; both you and your daughter can dine out on this charming anecdote.
OTIS: Even I know this is bad. Sadly, some dogs need lifelong training.
Dear Ruthless,
I’m a year out of college and working on establishing myself in my chosen career. I grew up in NY and have come back, and am living at home. I have a bunch of good school friends who did NOT grow up here, and are toughing it out in their respective multi-roommate situations in Brooklyn and Queens. I know I’m lucky, but I’m not just skating by because I don’t have to pay rent. I work three different jobs to earn money, in addition to the work I do towards my own goals. I’ve been getting the not-that-infrequent snarky comment about living rent free, and I’m over it. I don’t want to make a big deal about it, but I want to shut it down. Suggestions would be appreciated.
Signed,
Post-Grad “Freeloader”
Dear Post-Grad,
OTIS: I still live at home.
CINDY: Yes, being able to save your rent money is a boon, but choosing to forgo the perks of independent living is its own kind of sacrifice. On the flip side, your friends probably hang out every night, have parties at their apartment, and don’t have to deal with their parents or their parents’ house rules. Next time a friend brings up your living situation, you could just tell her it’s starting to bug you, or you try something like: “I am lucky! My mom and I stay up late most nights doing shots and trying on each other’s clothes. My twin bed is super cozy when I have a date over, though sometimes we just hang out talking to my dad. We’re having a party with their middle-aged friends on Friday night if you want to come!”
Dear Ruthless,
My wife has a friend who visits us both in the city and in the country, where we are fortunate to have a weekend home. Somehow she manages to extend her visits whenever she comes. It starts with “I’ll be in town/upstate, can I come for a few nights,” and then she’s with us for a week. She’s a nice person, and we’re really struggling with how to—literally— get her out of the house. How do we get her out of the house?
Signed,
Not a Hotel
Dear Not,
CINDY: Guest parameters can be hard to draw, so be specific about dates and definitely include something like, “I’ll drop you at the 3 o’clock train on Sunday,” somewhere in your discussion. If she tries to coax more time out of you, just smile and tell her you love her but it won’t work this time. If she tends to invite herself, occasionally say you can’t. I find that saying either “won’t” or “can’t” without offering an excuse is pretty effective. It leaves no wiggle room, whereas, “I’m not sure” or “I don’t think” opens the door to negotiations. Or you could come down with COVID.
OTIS: Get a dog that doesn’t like strangers.
Dear Ruthless,
You probably get this question every year, but I’m going to ask anyway, as fashions change! Can I wear white after Labor Day? I have a white suit I love and a few parties/events to go to in the first half of September.
Signed,
Nights in White Satin
Dear Nights,
CINDY: My mother drilled the “no white pants or shoes before Memorial Day or after Labor Day” rule every spring of my life, so it’s really hard for me to give you my full support due to my own trauma. However, once, during high school, this great looking girl who was a year older came to a winter party wearing white jeans, brown cowboy boots, and a chunky brownish sweater, and I thought no one ever looked cooler. So maybe just wear what you want and feel great about it. Although, if I may say, men in white pants, anytime, isn’t my favorite lewk.
OTIS: Don’t overthink it. I have one outfit I wear every day of the year, and everyone seems fine with it.
Karen Bergreen and Cynthia Kaplan are the co-creators of The Ruthless Comedy Hour, a comedy variety show for grownups with brains. In its 12th year, it features top stand-up comedians musicians and celebrity interviews, and addresses social, political, and local concerns by making brutal fun of them. Bergreen is a veteran stand-up comedian and author of two acclaimed novels. Kaplan tours extensively with her comedy rock band, The Cynthia Kaplan Ordeal, and is the author of two just as acclaimed collections of humorous essays.
Otis is a 12-year-old Welsh terrier. He is a life-long Upper West Sider. In his neighborhood he is known by many and loved by few.
Got a question in need of ruthless advice? Email Ruthless at info@westsiderag.com.
Read all Ruthless Advice columns here.
Her daughter caught him trying to use the spatula for the poop. He’s probably used it before like a poop scooper. Kramer used Seinfeld’s spatula to scratch his back that time. Time for a posted house rule about intended uses.
You brighten my day. Thank you, Otis.
The “no white” after Labor Day is out dated. Wear it and forget the crazy rules. Happy Labor Day!