As a rule, the spinster aunt may be considered the world’s foremost expert on expertise. However, a matter has come to our attention here at headquarters, and we (me and Phil) are in just a hair over our head. So I thought I’d better put it up to the Blametariat, which, as you know, is comprised of geniuses of all stripes. Those of you in the mental health business, fluff up the grey matter.
The matter concerns a pal of mine. Let’s call her B.
B has an adult daughter. Let’s call her Offspring.
Offspring looks to have had some sort of psychotic break. Once a successful engineer pulling down six figures, she quit that gig, changed her name to Sky Cloud Butterfly, and now purports to be a psychic high priestess who can marshal the forces of “vibrations” to produce favorable outcomes for her clients. Apparently Sky Cloud Butterfly once exterminated an infestation of ticks from a distance of 2000 miles by the power of meditation alone. She believes she is the most powerful vibration wrangler in the world. She can’t do any sort of traditional income-generating work, such as engineering, because the vibrating spirits are against it.
Naturally this view of reality has produced for Sky Cloud Butterfly unfortunate consequences regarding food and shelter. Owing to the scarcity of paying clients in need of vibrational assistance, and having gotten kicked out of her last living arrangement, she arrived a few weeks ago at B’s house, where she lounges around all day claiming that she can’t do the dishes or weed the garden on accounta the vibrations. She also refuses to submit to psychiatric care. B walks on eggshells because she slightest little things sets the offspring off. Sky Cloud Butterfly has taken over B’s life.
B’s husband, something of an overbearing woman-hating asshole to begin with, wants to give Sky Cloud Butterfly the heave-ho. They live in a trailer on a fixed income. They can’t afford a free-loading adult daughter. B’s husband — we’ll call him Fuckface — has been making B’s life extra miserable ever since Sky Cloud Butterfly showed up.
B, of course, can’t throw her daughter out. She’s well aware of the future that awaits a homeless woman operating at diminished capacity. But if the daughter stays, discord in the home in the shape of Fuckface’s tantrums will blow B’s mind.
Naturally I counseled B, like I do at every opportunity, to get rid of the pig husband, because the last thing you need when your daughter has gone off the deep end is some rancid fuckface dude ordering you around. But, as usual, B declines to resect the festering tissue.
My question is this: what the fuck can B do?
Also, does anybody know what brand of utility farm tractor I should buy?