Dear Gabby,
When you talk to people frequently, is it OK not to respond to every single text they send? When is it unintentional ghosting?
So Forgetful
Dear Forgetful,
Call me old fashioned, but I think it’s rude. Also, texting is easy enough to misinterpret on a good day, so those of us who are insecure will likely start thinking to themselves, “Rusty didn’t text me back. He hates me.”
Texting takes all of 25 seconds…do we not have 25 seconds to spare? Let’s cut out all possibilities of misinterpretation and misery and honor the sender with the courtesy of a reply and let “ghost” remain a noun, which it is, instead of a verb, which it should not be.
Dear Gabby,
My husband has a close friend with whom he has worked for a long time. Recently, he has had a scary health issue that caused him to quit his job. His friend, very kindly, said, “I want to do something for you. What do you like?” He was touched and told her that he loved food stuffs. A little later, he got a lobster roll kit in the mail which was very thoughtful, since we love spending time in Maine.
The only problem is, my husband keeps kosher (I do not) and his friend is certainly aware of that. Thus, no lobster rolls for him. Now he doesn’t know what to do in his thank you note: be honest which may embarrass his friend, or lie and say he enjoyed it when he didn’t.
Advice, please!
Maine Attraction
Dear Maine,
I believe that people who send gifts are thoughtful enough that they want their gifts to be enjoyed and would be slightly horrified at sending a gift that, while lovely, misses the mark so badly. So let’s not worry about protecting your sender’s feelings. At the same time, let’s be sensitive to all the thought and expense she put into the gift.
Why not write her a thank you card that says (and this may even be the truth for all I know), “Thank you for that incredibly thoughtful gift, Ramona! It really brought us back to Maine. Since I keep kosher, my wife Hazel enjoyed every bite, and I felt like we were picnicking on the craggy shores of Portland, just from the delicious lobster roll aroma.”
My guess is that Ramona will be bewildered that she forgot such a basic thing about your husband and will send something else. In the meantime, you’ve been honest, you’ve tried to save face and someone, maybe even Hazel, got a great meal!
Dear Gabby,
I have to find a new internist, as mine is retiring. I want your opinion: better to see a young doc who is up on the newest treatments and trends, or an older doc who’s seen it all?
Signed,
Decisionitis
Dear Decisionitis,
Ah, someone who actually wants my opinion….instead of having my opinion thrust upon them. For that, I thank you.
I say split the difference. Find someone about 10 years into their practice who still remembers all the cutting edge stuff but also knows enough older colleagues to consult when presented with a medical mystery. Not that you have one, or ever will, God forbid.
On the other hand, I’ve had wonderful and miserable experiences with doctors of all ages – I’ll spare you the deets – so, trust your gut, shop around, ask good friends for recs and hopefully it’s all moot because you’re too healthy to need their services. I’ll drink (a non-alcoholic, decaffeinated beverage – yawn) to that!
Dear Gabby appears in the RoundTable every Monday. Yes, Gabby is an advice columnist – but not just any advice columnist. Because that would be boring! Gabby combines wisdom with wit. And a pinch of snark. She is not a trained therapist by any means, but has seen and loved many in her day. Her aim is to make you think while she makes you laugh. Gabby welcomes all questions and queries and is only too happy to hear your opinion, no matter how much it may diverge from hers. Write to Gabby at news@evanstonroundtable.com.
I don’t have a phone..a flip phone..that I can easily text on, so others might be in a similar position.
I’m also not in favor of all of these shortcuts to communication and really being with people, so texting, while pretending to be communicative, is really not.
Same with Twitter, where one can throw out a limited number of words and then hide behind the screen.