Ask An Author (With A.P. Miller) – Volume 3

After this year, I am a lot closer to achieving my writing goals and meeting my ambitions than I was last year. Alas, until the contracts are signed and the book tours are scheduled, I need to keep stretching my writing legs – I still might have some skill as an advice columnist, provided that the advice is supposed to cause more harm than help.

The emails that I’ve received for this week’s column are super specific – I think it has something to do with that holiday on Tuesday, or something. I don’t know; unless it’s stamped on my forehead, I’m usually a space case. Someone says “put on some pants, we’re leaving” and I do it – I’m a follower.

[WARNING]: This article is a satire and is not to be taken seriously. Any similarities between actual people or events are purely coincidental and no character infringement is intended. Also, it’s pretty Christmas-centric – I’m not trying to exclude my brothers and sisters of other faiths, I’m just trying to bring joy back into a holiday that I don’t really have the strength to celebrate. Thank you in advance for your understanding.

Gingerbread is the Opiate of the Masses.

Dear, A.P.:

I work in a factory in the far North and my colleagues and I feel like we’re being taken advantage of. We’ve worked for the same organization for what feels like forever and I can’t tell you that a single one of us has ever gotten a promotion or a raise. The fat, bowl-full-of-go-f***-yourself, says that our reward is the joy that blooms in the hearts of the young people that receive our products. I wouldn’t know; I spend my days putting together cheap plastic tchotchkes, shoveling reindeer s***, reinforcing the crotch of a red velour suit that has been ravaged by a chub-rub that you can’t even fathom, and looking over a big list of children that my boss wants to know if they’ve been “naughty,” the f***ing creep. I think his wife is sick of him too – she keeps feeding him to fatten him up. I’m afraid I’m going to walk into work and it’s going to be like the beginning of the movie “Seven.” How do my co-workers and I change our work conditions? I feel like we have to do something before one of us snaps and starts making it look like a Warzone Wonderland.

Sincerely,

Holly, Jolly, & Melancholy.

Dear Holly, Jolly & Melancholy:

It would be a complete waste of time and energy to think that you can change your boss – you can’t make them respect you or your abilities. Rocky Balboa, as portrayed by Sylvester Stallone, said to his fictional son “If you know what you are worth, go out and get what you are worth!” That would be the most applicable advice that I can give. If you feel undervalued, go out and find someone who will value you as such, or begin your own enterprise. It’s up to you to find your fulfillment and to create the best situation for yourself, no one is going to do it for you, they are too busy creating opportunities for themselves.

-A.P.

Ho, Ho, Hoes?

Dear, A.P.:

My husband and I have been together for the longest time and I can’t remember ever being dependent on myself. For our entire marriage, I have been a kept woman. When anyone hears who my husband is, they accuse me of finding the perfect man and having the perfect home life. For most of the year, it’s alright. My husband is very dedicated to his work and spends a lot of time in the shop – he built his business from the ground up and I try to support him the best I can.

Every year, right around this time, the hussies come out of the woodwork to try to get a swig of my eggnog, if you get what I’m saying. All of a sudden women are baking him cookies, dressing their husbands up to look just like him, taking their kids to see him at the mall as an excuse to talk to him. I know what they are trying to do – I invented the game they are trying to play! Each year I get older, gravity takes its toll a little more, and the gray hairs became a little grayer – and each year the groupies get younger, their sweaters get tighter, and their skirts get shorter.

How do I tell my husband that I am not comfortable with him going to their houses, even if it is just one night a year? I don’t want him to quit his job, but I don’t know how good it is for my mental health to be lying awake wondering just how good the cookies and milk are before my husband goes off looking for another bakery. Please help!

Sincerely,

Mrs. C.

Dear, Mrs. C:

If there is an aspect of your relationship that is causing you duress and anguish, then you need to change it. There is no way around that – you can’t expect your husband to just know that something is off, even if you have been married for a very long time. Sit down with your husband and tell him exactly how you feel – let him know that your concerns are valid and that you need his respect as a husband to find a healthy resolution.

Have faith in your husband, it sounds to me (and I may be wrong, I’m just a writer!) that he’s not seeking out the attention, that its coming to him. That tells me that he’s a man that enjoys what he has at home. Have faith in him, I’m sure that you will find the kindred heart you’ve chosen hasn’t changed a bit.

-A.P

Black & Blue Christmas.

Dear, A.P.:

Do you know what it’s like to have a reputation as the jolliest man to ever exist? Do you know how emotionally draining that is. For one month out of the year I am bigger hit than Kanye West playing Fortnite, and the rest iof the year I have big boxes of my likeness shoved into a garage.

S***head parents tell their s***head kids to behave or else I won’t come visit them – I don’t need that kind of reputation. I honestly don’t give a rat’s a** if your kid is a pain in your a**. At this point, I have been doing this for so long that I am trying to get in your house and out before one of your tax credits takes my picture and posts it to Instagram.

What has really become a drain on my “Give a F***” reserves is the PR work leading up to the busiest night of the year. I get letters, not even letters, shopping lists from millions of kids and they expect results. I go to shopping malls and have a bunch of booger munchers climb into my lap, their hands are sticky with God-knows-what, and I have to say a little prayer that they can hold their bladder for the duration of the picture.Then, to be the crap dipped cherry on the moose-s*** sundae is how parents will supplement the stuff that I drop off for the kids with their own stuff and put my name on it. It makes me feel like I’m not doing enough for their fetuses and it makes the other kids feel like I don’t like them as much as Johnny and Susie Trustfund.

Please, tell me how to get the joy back in my job.

Sincerely,

KrispyKringle.

Dear KrispyKringle:

Get your real estate license and flip houses. It sounds like the Titanic (post-iceberg) is more watertight than your career prospects.

Hugs & Kisses,

-A.P.

Sincerely: Happy Holidays to all of you. I have big plans and lofty ambitions for 2019 and I want to thank you for being there, along for the ride.

Until your next trip across the Millerverse: Happy Holidays!

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