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Phone Call Of The Wild
I'm going to start blogging some of my short questions from my Advice Goddess column that I don't put on my New Columns page. Here's one:

My boyfriend of three months went on vacation for 10 days, and he’s phoned me only twice since he left. He’s off in the woods with his family, and doesn’t have cell phone reception unless they go into town. Still, this makes me feel he doesn’t really think about me. Do I have reason to be upset? --Undercalled

The guy’s off somewhere where successful wireless communication involves lighting a fire and flapping his sleeping bag over it. Chances are, he didn’t guarantee you a certain amount of mindshare, communicated in a specific number of phone calls -- so why throw a huffy? What you have here is not reason to be upset, but reason to get a life so you aren’t sitting around whining that your boyfriend’s doesn’t revolve around yours. Plus, giving somebody their freedom generally makes them less likely to feel the need to escape. In other words, a little time away might be all it takes to make your boyfriend want to spend a lot less time away -- that is, if his girlfriend manages to avoid reacting to his visit with Mommy, Daddy and the bears like it was 10 days with bar floozies, strippers, and hookers.

From my syndicated column "The Advice Goddess," by Amy Alkon. If it's not in a paper near you, please ask to have it be carried by a paper near you. It runs in alt weeklies and dailies (except the Los Angeles Times) where they want readers who won't be dead in five years -- and are willing to brave a few letters from angry old ladies to get them.

Posted by aalkon at August 5, 2006 9:40 AM

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A boyfriend of three months is one thing, what if they'd been married ten years? At some point she might have a reasonable daily interest in his continued survival. But she's probably be less touchy about it by then. Or more touchy? Dunno, just askin'

Posted by: Crid at August 5, 2006 11:40 AM

My college girlfriend called the morgue so many times I think they knew her by name. Man, that needy little ditty stirs up all sorts of ancient memories -- I'm starting to remember why I gave up romance to pursue a life of solitude in my little Unabomber shack in the Hollywood Hills. Fatalism is a very sexy quality, ladies. Cultivate it.

Posted by: Paul Hrissikopoulos at August 5, 2006 3:45 PM

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