Dearest Christy,

My boyfriend of six months, whom I absolutely adore, is looking to move cross country to be with me — in my brand-new one-bedroom condo. I couldn't be happier about it except for one teensy, 65-pound problem — his pet pit bull. I love the pooch - but he needs a yard, constant walks and, let's face it, pit bulls aren't exactly a warm-welcomed breed. Did I mention that he has a job where he's gone 26 out of 52 weeks a year?

—Cruella DeVil

Three's company:

The obvious: You can't ask him to leave his best friend behind. This, you know.

Christy Fantz
Christy Fantz

So, with an impeding move, one you welcome with open arms, it's time to tackle the positive and hop on the pup train. You're excited to gain a live-in big spoon, so look at this opportunity as gaining a little spoon, too.

Before the move, you should set up some rules. He must make sure the dog is trained — potty and all. If your man is going to be gone half the year, he can't expect you to uproot and become a part-time dog sitter. You will end up harboring resentful feelings. Help him to research nearby doggie daycares, daytime dog walkers and even overnight boarding. Then you won't need to completely disrupt your life when you need a short break from the fuzz pal, or if you go out of town.


On the plus side, while sitting at home deep-throating a magnum of wine, missing your man, your new best pal will sit right next to you and lick your tears. You two can go on hikes, he can protect you during a nighttime jog and he's softer than your body pillow.

Plus, he's a pit bull. If anyone tries to fuck with you... Nope. Nobody will fuck with you.

Just the tip: Make sure your county isn't one that bans pit bulls.

Your new pal will most likely wind up loving you dearly and in five years from now, you won't be able to see life without him.

Dear Christy,

My girlfriend is obsessed with her phone. We don't even have real conversations anymore. She gets pissed when I tell her to put it down. What a world we live in.

—Talkin' to myself

Conversation kills:

Our parents had television. Our grandparents had radios. Our great ancestors had books. Jesus had ... hookers and blow? (I jest for sport.) We have smartphones. Our kids will have robots. Their kids will have Doc Brown's Delorean.

The world will always have an obsession at hand, and it's composure's job to keep it at bay.

Tell her how much it honestly bothers you. If she doesn't listen, pull out roadblocks while she's walking, because immaturity is fun. (But catch her — you're not a huge asshole.)

Spend time with your friends. Leave the house when she's tit-deep in her phone. Then, when she wakes from her social media slumber unaware you've been gone for two hours, cat-calling you back home, tell her you're pursuing human conversation cravings.

When she gets pissed, pass her another life in Candy Crush.

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