DEAR SEAN: I tried a tomato sandwich yesterday for the first time. My mom bought tomatoes at the grocery store and we made them with Hellmann’s and wheat bread. The sandwiches were okay, but not life-changing like you said they would be.
DEAR READER: You did it wrong. You do not make a tomato sandwich with store-bought tomatoes unless you are from Detroit. You must use homegrown tomatoes for such pleasantries.
Moreover, using Hellmann’s on a tomato sandwich is like dipping your French fries in Vaseline. It must be Duke’s, Blue Plate, or Bama brand mayo.
Lastly, wheat bread is not fit for tomato sandwiches, it must be white bread. Wheat bread is only for communists and people who don’t love the Lord.
DEAR SEAN: How do I stop my brother from stealing my beer? We are ages 24 and 26 and roommates. We split all the household expenses, but we buy our own beer because it’s pricey. He always runs out of money first and steals my beer and then I have nothing. Please help me.
DEAR READER: The following story is true. My grandfather once pulled this prank on his coworker when they were on a work trip. First my grandfather purchased a manual bottle-capper. Then he secretly opened their beers and dumped red food-coloring into each beer. Then he recapped the bottles.
When his friend drank the beer he didn’t notice the coloring because of the brown bottles.
The next morning when his friend visited the commode, there were shrieks of terror coming from the restroom. “I’m dying!” the coworker shouted.
This is my wisdom. I offer it to you freely.
DEAR SEAN: My dog died from pancreatitis last week. My heart hurts so badly and I wish I knew how to function. Do you have any advice for me?
DEAR READER: When my bloodhound, Ellie Mae, died I thought I’d never recover. I cried all day. For weeks. I felt as though the sun had been blotted out.
Finally, a friend of mine forced me to find some bloodhound puppies on craigslist and said to go cuddle with them. So I found a lady with a litter of newborn bloodhounds in Enterprise, Alabama.
That day, I cuddled with the puppies for three hours. And when I left, my heart was so swollen I thought I was going to have a cardiac infarction.
My advice is to find some puppies. And find them fast.
DEAR SEAN: What are your thoughts on the mega-millions lottery? As good Christians, we know we shouldn’t buy a ticket. But when the prize is so great, who can resist? My dear husband and I often discuss what we would do if we won. The church would get a new fellowship hall.
DEAR READER: I’m glad you asked this question. Because my aunt Eulah Mae and Tommy Lee were staunch Southern Baptists who also played the Florida Powerball, religiously.
One day—and I’ll never forget this—Aunt Eulah came home and told her husband, “Pack your bags! I’ve just won the lottery!”
Uncle Tommy Lee was in shock. “Should I pack for the mountains or the beach?” Tommy Lee asked.
“I don’t care,” answered Eulah. “Just get out of my house.”
DEAR SEAN: I know a lady in my college class who is a single mother with three kids who works as a waitress and dishwasher and goes to school at night. I know she struggles to pay her bills. I want to do something for her, but I don’t know what. Any ideas?
DEAR READER: I used to have a friend who, every year on his birthday, would round up 20 people and visit the local Waffle House.
But there was a catch to being invited to this birthday breakfast. You had to bring $100. And all us at the table had to covertly leave our hundred-dollar bills as a tip before quietly slipping out of the restaurant.
By the time we were all in our vehicles, the waitress would thereupon receive a $2000 tip. Just a thought.
DEAR SEAN: How do I know if I’m a real Southerner or not? I was not born in the South, my dad was in the military, I was born in New Mexico and we moved around a lot. But we moved here when I was 15, and this is my home. I sort of talk like a Southerner, but not big-time. My friends from the North call me a southerner. But my Southern friends call me a “stupid Yankee.”
DEAR READER: I want you to listen to me very carefully. Your Southern friends are turds.
Being a Southerner is a frame of mind, not a birthright.
DEAR SEAN: I am 10 years old and my dad said that if I saved up my money I could buy anything I wanted. I have saved up enough to buy a pig. But my dad says no because pigs are not for people who live in neighborhoods. But my mom says she likes pigs and thinks they’re cute and she’s cool with it. Do you know anyone who has a pet pig or can give me some advice?
DEAR READER: What your dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
DEAR SEAN: I am 19, and I wanted to ask how to impress a girl in my class. I am from South Georgia, and we are rural people. I don’t have a lot of money. But I want to get this girl’s attention in a respectful way. Do you have any advice?
DEAR READER: Do this. Find some homegrown tomatoes. Then, buy a loaf of Bunny bread, one jar of Duke’s, and some salt and pepper. Give this to her in a Winn-Dixie bag. You will be married by noon.
