Christy Fantz has relationship advice and she’s not afraid to dish it out. Send your questions to firstname.lastname@example.org .
D ear Christy,
My boyfriend is in love with me, we’ve been together for a year. I have a suspicion that he cheated on me. I found some friendly texts on his phone from a girl he works with. I have been cheated on in the past so maybe I’m being paranoid. Should I follow him?
Abort mission. I can condone stalking at times. Not here.
Other than “friendly” texts, is there any other reason to believe he was unfaithful?
Perhaps your adulterated heart views all boys as swine. Poor kid.
Let’s spoon my shrink.
Your distrust in men reigns with your overdosing dopamine. Resolve your paranoia, otherwise, the relationship will be bruised.
Might I recommend a shrink? It’s a good time. They can’t judge you like your asshole friends. Plus, you can sob like a baby. They don’t give a shit. They’ve seen it all. (Now mine has. Oh dear.)
And if your man really did cheat? Cheat the fuck back.
Two wrongs make a good time.
Oh, by the way, stop going through his phone. Jerk.
I know way too much about my parents’ relationship. They each bitch to me separately about their problems and each other — including sex (or lack thereof). Can I tell them to stop? But they’re my parents and I feel bad. They don’t have any friends to vent to.
-Too much information
Erase, erase, erase.
Dammit, now your mom is getting bent over the loveseat by your dad (in my head).
Super. Thanks for that.
(Well hello there, hair-pulling silver fox. Give us a kiss.)
Parent sex is gross. And not for our ears. Or eyes.
Praise Catholicism that in the five sole instances (judging by my four siblings) that I could have stumbled upon awkward parent sex, I never did. (I jest, parents. It was six.)
Oh sweet whiskey, I need a drink.
TMI, you’re an asshole. Thanks for making us all think about our parents banging right now. (And if she didn’t, I just did. Success.)
Your parents need to keep their marriage between themselves (and clearly a shrink).
As their spawn, the sole time their cobwebby genitals should be mentioned is while reminiscing about the time you shot out of your mom’s vagina. (Reminiscing? You guys are sick.)
As for their relationship marriage woes? None of your damn business.
Get them a gift certificate to Facebook. They need friends. You are not their therapist.
Note to elders: Spilling your problems to us only forces us into therapy, which you’ll have to pay for. We drank all our money away.