From the desk of Stella Goldberg

Dear Stella is an advice column written by Stella Goldberg – mother, wife, and all around dispenser of wisdom. You may send your questions to her at 1445 Jupiter Street, Queens, NY 10045.

Dear Stella,

In the past two weeks, both of my parents have been diagnosed with a terminal illness – Mom with cancer that has spread to her lungs and brain, Dad with kidney failure. Neither of them are expected to live longer than 6 months. I have a younger sister who is mentally challenged – my parents have taken care of her for her entire life. After their passing, I’m expected to take care of her. However my husband is abusive and I’m currently pregnant with conjoined twins that will require years of surgery. We both recently lost our jobs. I just don’t know how to deal with these trying times. Any advice?

Crashing Down Around Me

Dear Crashing,
Oh, my God. Oh. God. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Reader – I’m sure your problem is very important to me but today, I’m too distracted to give out advice. My suggestion – put some ointment on it or something. I can’t go into more detail than that – I’m too happily distracted. Readers, you know I don’t normally like to bring my personal life into my columns. But today I can’t resist. My daughter, Frannie, is going on a second date with Sol Gruierstein. You might remember him – he’s Sylvia’s son – the divorce attorney who handles all the nasty splits from those uppity Manhattan types. Well, I put them together on Sylvia’s loveseat during the break the fast party. They hit it off like nobody’s business. That was Thursday. Well, wouldn’t you know when our doorbell rang on Friday night, it was him. I answered it, expecting to find one of Frannie’s other boy things. You know – some sort of biker or tattoo artist or Methodist. Something that just makes a mother’s heart weep. Anyway, I open the door and who is there? Sol! I was thinking “did I leave my casserole dish over at Sylvia’s? Probably not – she’d just keep it, the thieving witch.” Then he asked for Frannie. Wouldn’t you know that I nearly fell through the floor. I turn around to yell up the stairs for her and she’s already coming down. In a dress. And some cute little heels. And a little sweater top. I swear if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was heading to a bar mitzvah. Before I could say anything, she plowed right past me and out the door. And they didn’t come home until 12:57 that night. Not that I was upset. I know Sol is a good boy who wouldn’t do anything inappropriate with my Frannie. Not that I was waiting on them, but I watched from the upstairs window in the closet when he actually walked her up to the porch. Such a gentleman. Sylvia may not be able to bake bagels to save her life, but she clearly raised a good boy! Unfortunately, they disappeared under the awning of the porch, so I couldn’t see if he gave her a good night kiss or anything. But they stayed under there for 24 seconds. You don’t just say “this was fun, I’ll call you” in 24 seconds.

So fast forward to tonight. I see Frannie this afternoon looking…different. Turns out she went to that salon up on 42nd and got an adorable haircut and some color. She looks like a young Barbara Streisand, if I do say so. I asked her “Frannie! Who do you think you’re getting all dolled up for?” She rolled her eyes at me, like she always does. “Ma!” she said. “Ma! I have a date. It’s not your concern!” I won’t lie. My heart skipped a beat or two at that little revelation. “A date? With who?” I asked. “Not that it’s any of your business, but with Sol.” Well, it was all I could do not to grab her by the cheeks and kiss her. Sol! My new son in law, Sol! I don’t remember much after that – she got all testy with me just because I was trying to be helpful and point out that men don’t marry women who put out on the second date – they marry LADIES and it wouldn’t hurt her to act a little ladylike. She yelled something about how they were going to bond over their traumatic childhoods being raised by overbearing Jewish mothers. Really, I don’t care about any of this. All I care about is that my Frannie has finally found a man worthy of her. I should call up Sylvia. Maybe her bagels would be better with a little schmear and a little lox…after all, we’ll be related soon. You’ve got to get along with family!