Five days out, and the campaign has been heavy going. So for my final column before the election, I’ve opened the agony advice line to the political party leaders.
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Dear Dr Claire,
My partner keeps making big decisions without talking to me. Last week he spoke for the whole whānau even though most of us were against it. When friends ask what’s going on, I say everything’s normal. The thing is, it doesn’t feel normal. We’re meant to be renewing our vows next week, and I’m already worried he thinks this is just a marriage of convenience. I can’t see how the relationship will last more than 12 months. Should I say something before the ceremony, or after?
Overlooked, Botany
Dear Overlooked,
You can’t let him speak for the household and then act surprised when your whānau believe he runs the place. Before you renew anything, ask yourself whether this a genuine partnership or are you just providing him a closet to hang his pinstriped suits? Say something before the ceremony. Afterwards, he’ll be holding the rings, and your passports.
Dear Dr Claire,
I share a flat with a younger, greener housemate. Every week, more of my food goes missing from the fridge and she hardly ever cleans the toilet (claims it’s a living biosphere that needs to be protected). I’ve said nothing because I need her signature on the new lease next month. How do I raise my frustrations without losing a paying flatmate?
Hangry, Remutaka
Dear Hangry,
That “living biosphere” in the toilet is the giveaway. Biologists would call you the host. Ask yourself why everything in that flat is thriving except you. In the old days your landlady, Helen, kept a padlock on the fridge. Nobody thought less of her for it. Have one of those courageous conversations all Wellington public servants have been trained to have. And remember, your flatmate doesn’t have many other options to shack up with. In the food chain, you’re still the bigger animal. Start acting like it.
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Dear Dr Claire,
I get no respect. I’ve been in this job since 1978, on and off. People used to throw baubles and sweeteners my way just to work with me. Now younger colleagues keep asking when I’m going to retire. I suspect they’re after my desk by the window, maybe even my carpark. When I make a decision, they complain I don’t consult them. Why would I? They’re all bloody pinko communist wokesters. Between you and me, I’m exhausted, and would love nothing more than to chain-smoke at the TAB with my mates and reminisce about the good old days. I just worry no one will remember me if I’m no longer a pain in the nation’s arse?
Eternal, New Zealand (not Aotearoa)
Dear Eternal,
Your age isn’t the issue. It’s the endless stories. Your colleagues have heard them more times than they can count, including the ones you make up. You’ve done enough to never be forgotten, but brother, bro, mate, matua, it is now time for that one New Zealander you harp on about so much to put himself first. Move on and let ngā tamariki mokopuna make the same mistakes you did when you were their age. It’s called the circle of life. Hakuna matata.
Dear Dr Claire,
I’m the clever one in our group. I read the fine print, I know the rules and I know my rights. Even though I’ve worked here since 2014, everyone still treats me as the junior partner. My older colleague Eternal gets all the attention, the desk with a view, the carpark with the best access, and he has no idea how to make a pivot table. How do I get the boss to take me seriously and consider me for that long overdue promotion?
Underestimated, Epsom
Dear Underestimated,
Being clever is not the same as being noticed. Your older colleague Eternal gets attention because he has a great smile, and yours looks more like a sneer. But hang in there, grasshopper, your time will come. By the way, your latest BFF – Paul is it? He’s great fun, isn’t he? Though watch him closely. The moment Eternal exits the building, Paul will have occupied the desk by the window before you’ve even said the word twerk, I mean perk.
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Dear Dr Claire,
I’ve just moved to a new school and already everyone says they’d never go out with me. Am I unlovable?
Swipe Centre, Mt Albert
Dear Swipe Centre,
When everyone keeps saying they’d never go out with you, it usually means they’re thinking about you a great deal. It’s not rejection, it’s a crush. Besides, you only need just five per cent of the classroom to like you. And the ones who rule you out on the first date are often still there at 2am, waiting for your teal button to light up so they can send you a dick pick at 2am. They all want you, really.
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Dear Dr Claire,
My flatmate and I have been living together for years. I think we’re ready for something more serious, but he still introduces me as “just a flatmate”. Meanwhile, I’ve been working hard on my cooking, cleaning and my pivot tables. Should I wait for him to acknowledge my new skills or should I move into the bigger room while he’s not looking?
Ready to Commit, Auckland Central
Dear Ready to Commit,
You’ve answered your own question. He calls you a flatmate because it suits him. Meanwhile, you’re paying more of the rent every month. Don’t wait to be asked. In this house, the bigger room goes to whoever moves in first. If he complains, remind him he’s the one who left the door open, and it’s you that cultivated those ‘sprouts’ he sneaks into his chocolate brownie mixture when no one is looking. Iykyk.
Dear Dr Claire,
Donny and I had a brilliant idea to help our mates. We told everyone to eat at Chris’s house and sleep at Davo and Winnie’s. That way everyone gets to eat for free and have their choice of bedmates. I even made whiteboard videos. Then our head boy John told the assembly this was a silly idea and Chris complained about me to the principal. Where did we go wrong?
Hazza, Hamilton
Dear Hazza,
Chris didn’t call the principal over your whiteboard skills. He called because you were emptying his spare rooms. He also says your plan ends in a hangover, and he’s usually the one bringing the drinks and chips, even if he doesn’t drink. With friends like you and Donny, who needs enemies?
Tēnā koe Dr Claire,
I’ve asked my whānau to give their pōti ā-rohe to me, and their pōti ā-pāti to the bros next door. Meanwhile, a white fulla on the other side of town is in trouble for doing something very similar. Am I a genius, or just lucky nobody’s complained?
Nā, Te Kaupoai, Waiariki
E hoa, he horo ki tūparimaunga, he hewa ki te tangata kotahi. If you can interpret what that means, you deserve to get into parliament on a landslide – just watch out for the falling rocks!
The advice line is closed until after the polls close at 7pm next Saturday.
As an addendum, I write these columns for love, not money. If you’ve enjoyed them this year and would like to chip in, I’ve added a donate button on my website home page. Every bit will help me keep writing after the election – at least until a new government is formed, which could be some time away. After that I may have to go off and find me some paid mahi. No pressure and thank you either way.