I like to think that I give good advice. In fact, I believe most people feel that they’re very adept at dispensing wisdom. Weirdly, I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone tell me that they suck at giving advice which says a lot about the high esteem we place on our opinions.
There’s also the vanity component of advice giving. It can be flattering when someone asks for your guidance. It’s a real two-fer. It gives you a chance to pontificate to a captive audience and you also feel like you’re helping someone.
This was why when a stranger asked for me advice recently, I didn’t think it was odd. Although the circumstances were very odd indeed.
I was having car trouble to such an extent that my vehicle needed to be towed from a parking lot to a mechanic. This also necessitated me riding with the tow truck driver. The young man was extremely nice and had an impeccably clean truck interior which made me happy.
Once I got settled in we started the basic chitchat. The “what happened to your car?” etc. etc. Then minutes later the tow truck driver asked if I would give him some advice. My first reaction was that I must be radiating some fairly strong maternal vibes for this young man to be reaching out to me like this. My second was I hope I’m not going to be killed. My third was, “Oh my God, I’m wearing flip-flops. I’ll never be able to get away fast enough.”
Those last two reactions are based on listening to way too many true crime podcasts, specifically “Dateline.” It changes you and not in a good way because now I’m always on a high alert for serial killers. Never mind that serial killers only account for two percent of all murders. Now as for the flip-flops they are known to be the worst shoes to wear for outrunning death.
Luckily, this man was a delight and someone who I felt could benefit from my years of experience on planet Earth. So, when he shared his trauma about breaking up with his girlfriend, I was all sympathetic ears. As an added bonus the ride proved to be a multimedia event when the tow truck driver played voicemails left by his ex-girlfriend’s mother.
Umm, just wow on that. This woman was unhinged, like “Dateline” unhinged. I would now like to offer this public service announcement/unsolicited advice. Mothers stay out of your grown adult children’s breakups. You’re not helping – anyone.
After I recovered from the voicemails of doom I was ready to offer what I thought was some excellent advice. I went with what I’m going to call my “classic counsel.” It’s where I start with kindness and then segue to tough love.
By this I mean I told the 20 something tow truck driver that he’s done the hard part which is breaking up so don’t get wooed into getting back together. I then shared that if he felt himself being pulled back into the relationship to just play a couple of the voicemails from that mother to scare him.
Once we arrived at the service department with the car my son was waiting to give me a ride home. After he saw the tow truck driver and I bid an emotional farewell he asked me, “What did you do to that tow truck driver?”
“Nothing except sharing my wealth of knowledge about the human experience for the betterment of mankind with him,” I proudly stated.
“That poor guy,” he sighed. “He’ll probably never recover.”
Ugh, kids. If only they knew and appreciated the advice-giving genius of their mothers.
***
While we’re on the topic of genius advice run don’t walk to to preorder my new book Killer Dance Mom!!! 🎉 It’s my first Snarky mystery and I’m hoping you’ll love it. Here’s the link to order https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C4FZTK5B
Wynn Butler is a newbie dance mom and honestly, she hasn’t exactly been receiving rave reviews for her skills. Blinging out costumes and being your child’s glam team are not exactly her strong suits. But at her daughter’s first national competition Wynn is ready to prove herself.
What she hadn’t planned for is being forced to share a hotel room with her least favorite person in the whole world – Jacardia Monroe, a mom who’s had two tours of duty at a spray tan detox clinic.
While Wynn attempts to survive the roommate from hell and cheer on her daughter, she stumbles onto a murder. Stuffed in a dance bag backstage is Kingston Reeves, a renowned competition judge. Sitting right next to that dance bag is Jacardia.
When both women became “persons of interest” in the case, Wynn decides it’s time to do some serious snooping to see who at the competition had a motive to kill the dance judge. Rallying her best friends to help her, Wynn discovers a wide swath of suspects from the Instagram/influencer mom who brings a professional camera crew to follow her at competitions, to a crazed former ballerina turned combative dance mom and then there’s the glitter gang . . . a cadre of mothers who are addicted to rhinestoning costumes and perhaps even murder.
As Wynn gets closer to finding out who the killer is she might be one step-ball-change away from death.
Snarky in the Suburbs 