ASK EMILY

Ask Emily Thinks Kris Jenner Is An Asshat Advice Columnist

From Life & Style Magazine

Q. I’m 36 years old and dating a 25 year old. We’re planning to get married, but he has yet to be honest with his parents about us. Should I break things off?

- Lois G., Huntsville, Ala

Kris says…

Have a little confidence in the man you plan to marry. You never really know the true relationship between a guy and his parents, so why not concentrate on the two of you and your kids? He’ll introduce you in due time, and once you’re happily married you’ll have years and years and years to dissect their family dynamic. Until then, worry about more important things—like what your wedding dress is going to look like!

Bitch, please. Picking out an elegant ensemble for an overpriced party takes precedence over addressing major relationship issues before impending nuptuals? This is why your daughters end up banging ballers and Patrick Bateman dopplegangers. Girl, you give awful advice. This lady clearly needs to find out why her fiancée’s folks are in the dark about his new family’s existence. If he’s worried they won’t approve, it could be an indication that he’s having reservations himself. The only way to find clarity is to open the lines of communication. Lois, talk to your man. Kris, talk to the hand.

An Ask Emily How To

How To Survive A Gas Leak When Your Cats Are Trying To Murder You

1) Smell gas? Check your stove

2) Open all the windows, check your animals and call 911

3) Once everything’s clear, craft an email to everyone you love that looks something like this:

Subject line: Am I Liz Lemon?

I just used a dryer sheet to blow my nose because I am out of toilet paper, tissues and paper towels.

I’ve been awake since 4am when I woke up on the couch and realized that something wasn’t right and it wasn’t the fact that I’d fallen asleep to Forgetting Sarah Marshall for the zillionth time. My entire apartment smelled like gas. I went into the kitchen and two of my gas burners were turned on but not lit. Did I leave them on? No. I didn’t cook last night. I turned off the burners.

I started to panic and ran to check on the cats who were both just chilling and breathing and being super adorable and I was so relieved that they were okay because not only are they the most precious creatures in my life, but they are the gauge for whether or not I’m going to survive a gas leak. “They’re alert and active. Think I’m gonna make it!” is my line of thinking basically.

I opened every window in my apartment and went into the hallway to call my parents. My dad, god bless him, woke up. “What’s wrong??” he asked and I told him about the gas. “Oh my god! Are the cats ok??!!” My dad is not a cat person so clearly he was trying to gauge the likelihood of my survival on my pets as well.

“Yea, they’re ok.” He and my mom told me to call 911 so I did. I explained the situation and they said they’d send someone out. A minute later, I heard sirens and about thirty seconds after that, there was a knock at my door.

I let in the first firefighter and showed him to my apartment while leaving the door open so more could follow. Upon entering my apartment, he remarked, “Well. I definitely smell your cats.” Which I took some offense to because the fragrant perfume of my beautiful felines is definitely not stronger than pure gas.

He proceeded to check my stove as more firemen filed into my apartment and scoped out the different rooms. I stood off to the side making a mental list of everything I was embarrassed by: the dirty dishes in the sink, the box of cat food boxes I hadn’t taken down to the trash bin yet, the DVDs strewn across my living room floor, the sweater pile that rents space next to the pants pile at the foot of my bed, the fact that I lacked both paper towels and toilet paper. Finally I looked down at myself and realized I was wearing the cat print pajama pants my mom had given me for my birthday the year I got my precious little pussycats. Oh well.

The firepolice took my information and were very friendly for the most part. They were skeptical about my proposed theory that the cats had accidentally bumped the knobs so I didn’t mention my dad’s suggestion that I either had a poltergeist or that maybe the cats were trying to cook me breakfast and failed. “Were there eggs in a pot on the stove too?” he had asked earlier.

After the firedudes split, I started to clean when my buzzer rang. I went downstairs and let in the gas company who informed me that everything was aces right before making some crack about Sylvia Plath. Hey. I know I look artsy fartsy in my black frame glasses and cat party jammers but I’m pretty sure that if Plath had two of God’s sweetest angels as pets like I do, she wouldn’t have shoved her head in the oven.

I suppose I should wrap this up, so I will just say that this morning was very scary. I can say confidently that I came close to something pretty bad happening and that’s not a pleasant feeling. I’m not trying to be morbid, but I want you all to know how much I care about you. I try to say it often and show it because actions speak louder etc but still. I care about you all so much.

Everything’s fine now except I’m still using a dryer sheet to wipe my nose and it’s kind of uncomfortable. I hope you all have a great day filled with cupcakes and sunshine and cats.

All my love forever,
Emily

Editor’s note: Can’t figure out how to fix these wonky paragraph breaks. Apologies!