My favorite restaurant banned me for life after I had a few too many Manhattans and cursed out the hostess. But isn’t the customer always right?
Not when you throw around the c word, pal. Listen: We’ve all been that guy, the one who really, really wants things to go his way and maybe lets slip a little “Don’t you know who I am?” this and “I own you!” that. But next time, you need to remember that old kids’ tale about the sun and the wind and the girl wearing the Balenciaga cape. Which gets her to strip down first? Not the blowhard. My advice: Apologize to the owner, profusely and publicly, with a full-page ad—maybe a spread—in the Times. Be sincere. You’re sorry you acted like an overstuffed buffoon; as a gesture of remorse, you’ve made a donation to the owner’s pet cause (homeless cats!). Then overnight a Birkin to the hostess. And this time, the c is for crocodile.
My father has started dating my college roommate—and now he wants to double. How do I get out of it without compromising my inheritance?
Tell him you’re a lesbian. Next! OK, seriously. You’re a lesbian? That’s so great. So go ahead and let Dad know you’d be delighted to move some things around to join them at Le Bernardin, provided he picks up the check—you’ll take care of pre-ordering the ’98 Coche-Dury Rougeots—and plays nice with your new lady friend. He remembers Lisa, right? His sister-in-law from his first marriage? Then, come armed with some fun stories of you and Roomie’s good old days as part of the tribe back at Princeton, when she had that threesome with those two non-legacies and then bombed medical anthropology. Oh, wait—sorry, Daddy! That was you.
When my best friend asks me what I think of the cosmetic work he’s had done, which is awful, does he really want to know?
Not even in the slightest. The good news: He already suspects something’s not quite right or he wouldn’t be asking (perhaps he was tipped off when you pointed out the oatmeal that had been stuck to the side of his face since breakfast). Which gives you an opening. So say: “Love, you know I adore you no matter how you look and whether or not your face moves, but I’d be selfish if I didn’t intro you to my uber-exclusive doc. Needles is an absolute dream—his motto is ‘Shiny foreheads are for SoulCycle’—and he doesn’t see just anyone. But I’m positive I could get you in. I would do that for you.” Then let your friend pay for lunch, and text Needles that you got him a good one. Please, no need for thanks. He can repay you in Restylane.
