Two Vassar senior citizens bond together to offer advice

On the left is my adorable 12-year-old puppy Kingsford Charles, and on the right is Tiffany’s lovely spawn Chloe Trumble. Who is cuter? You decide! Send your votes to, subject line “dog baby.”

As a woman in her early 20s (*cough, cough*), I have quite a few tips to disseminate to the youngins out there. First and foremost, do NOT, under any circumstances, get pregnant. I desperately remind you to utilize those condoms in the dorm hallways with the best of intentions. I honestly do love my attention-seeking, Deece-exploring daughter (her name is Chloe, for the three of you who haven’t met her), but the terrible twos are prominently displayed in my shitty homework and the bags under my eyes. Dealing with her attitude is only half the battle. Waking up three hours before my 9:30 class every morning takes a toll, as do the evening hours singing “Baby Shark” instead of writing one of my many essays. The last few weeks have especially been quite a trial, as we are now potty-training. It is quite odd walking into the living room and seeing poop on the floor when you don’t have a pet. If that isn’t enough to dissuade you, picture 23 hours of labor. That should do it.

My next bit of advice has to do with men (surprise). I’m sorry to say I can’t give a lot of advice on any other relationships, but for those attracted to the smell that is masculinity—look no further. Men are awful. They put their half-finished beer cans on the coffee table (ass), leaving rings that don’t disappear with even the most scrupulous cleaning, and they REFUSE to get out of the shower without playing “helicopter” in full view of the living room window.

I get it. Being with a man sounds nice on the surface, but this idea of having someone to be little spoon (yes, that is correct) who can also get things off the top shelf isn’t worth it. While he reaches for the coffee beans he will undoubtedly fart (it will be pungent) and then proceed to laugh maliciously like Vassar’s security guards after they leave another ticket on your car. Oh, and by the way, our daughter wasn’t even at home when I found the poop on the floor.

In an effort to keep these extremely opinionated suggestions fair, Franny has agreed to offer insight into the male mind:

Thanks Tiff. As a man keeping up with male tradition I will shoddily complete a woman’s hard work and parade it around as if I was the mastermind behind this whole thing. So thanks for the start sweetheart, I’ll take it from here.

Y’all, I wanna start off by saying I’m not gonna be using those big fancy words Tiff used like “disseminate,” “dissuade” or “potty-training” (whatever that is). I don’t know what she is on about. Farts are hilarious, and life is too short to use a coaster.

So as a man (*cough, cough*) in his late 20s, here are a few pearls of wisdom I have to share. Get a dog. Life is so much easier with a dog. Sure, you have to take care of another life, but they are always happy to see you. Plus, you can literally get away with anything if you have a cute dog (and my dog is the cutest. Don’t challenge me on this, you will lose). Late on homework? Say your dog had to go to the vet. Someone mad at you? Throw a tennis ball so your dog runs their way. Argument with your annoying roommate? Have your dog maul them.

I know Tiff made being married to a man sound bad, but it really isn’t. I mean yes, everything she said is true, and we are horrible living partners, but it could be worse. You could be married to a bear or a chupacabra. That would undoubtedly be much worse (maybe).

Women are no walk in the park either. I am married to a woman, and you won’t believe the shit I have to put up with. Just the other day she told me I can’t use 3-in-1 Soap/ Shampoo/Conditioner because all three are horrible? She also complained that the scent ‘Bearglove’ isn’t a real thing! That’s the problem with women—they let every small inconvenience like your hair falling out in clumps and smelling like swamp ass get to them.

My advice to all you young, single people out there is this: Find someone you like, hold them tight, then convince them to leave the military with you and go to a fancy school you’ve never heard of all the way in Pough-whereeverthefuck-sie so you can study for a degree you probably won’t even use. I mean, it worked two different times for Tiff and I, at least.

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