Noble County Recorder

Advice from everyone’s favorite Auntie

Dear Auntie June,

My husband said he was workin’ late down at the cannery, so I thought I’d swing by Fresh Air and pick him up some BBQ.

Well, I was drivin’ the loop road and as I passed the Pink Pony, I noticed a truck out front looked an awful lot like his.

But it was just that giant neon Girls Girls Girls sign casting shadows, right?

—Wonderin’ on the Loop Road

Dear Wonderin’,

Suga, while those blinkin’ signs can blind the daylight outta Ray Charles, there’s nothing wrong with trustin’ your instincts—especially when the shadows start lookin’ like familiar tail lights.

Here’s what you do: Next time y’all are settlin’ in for supper, get real casual and say, “Well, I was down at Kitty’s gettin’ my hair done and tongues are waggin’ about Amber catchin’ Charles Ray at the Pony Club, can you believe it?”
Then just watch him—if he squirms, stutters, or suddenly remembers to take the trash out for the first time since the Fourth of July, girl, you got options.

Now, dependin’ on how aggrieved you’re feelin’:

• You can call 1-800-KEN for a quickie divorce (he’s got a punch card for every third client—free lawn flamingo removal included),
  or

• You can flash him a smile sweet as tea and head on over to Sea Islands Gifts and Glass. Noticed they’re havin’ a sale on fine jewelry—nothing soothes a ruffled feather like a little sparkle on your wrist.

Remember: Sanctuary Bay women didn’t get this far by takin’ men at their word—or by passing up a good sale.

Yours in sweet tea and strategic shopping,
Auntie June

Dear Auntie June,

We were at Mario’s the other night with my husband’s family, and my niece’s child was runnin’ wild—bouncin’ off booths like a pinball. I wanted to snatch a knot in her head right there, but my husband said that’d be rude and I should let her “express herself.”
I swear, if she’d expressed herself any harder, we’d be settin’ up a GoFundMe for new salt shakers. What do you think?

—Aunt With Nerves Like Cheap Lace

Dear Cheap Lace,

Oh, honey. I have seen more unruly young’uns at Mario’s than I have meatballs, and that’s saying something. Let me put it this way: there’s a fine line between “expressing yourself” and “auditioning for an exorcism.” But as much as you wanted to snatch a knot (and let’s be honest, that’s the Southern way), public places ain’t the spot for old-school discipline—unless you want your photo on Facebook with the caption, “Guess who lost it at Mario’s?”

Best thing is, give her mama The Look—you know the one, where your eyebrow goes up and your soul leaves your body. If that doesn’t work, let the restaurant staff handle it; nothing like a server with a tray of sweet tea to shut down a sugar rush.

In the meantime, practice deep breathing, order another plate of garlic knots, and remember: revenge is best served at the next family reunion, when you gift the child a drum set.

Yours in patience and percussion,

Auntie June