Guest Column: Ask a Goat God

Even when I don't see the genie all month, I rarely worry that he won't get his column in. He always turns up when we need him. This week, though, his deadline slipped by without a word, and when the typesetters called to say they absolutely needed his column that moment, I had nothing to give them. But then they called back a minute later to say an envelope had blown in under the door on a mysterious gust of wind.

"Hello fretful mortals toiling for your bread," read the note on the envelope. "Our mutual friend sends his greetings and apologies. He is busy elsewhere. I have answered his letters. An amusing diversion! You are welcome."

In lieu of a signature was a hoof print in gold ink that shimmered like quaking aspen leaves. And so we bring you a world-first exclusive feature, Ask a Goat God.

Dear Lord of the Wilderness,
While I was away at a conference last week, my husband painted the house in a color I would never have chosen. He thought I'd like the surprise, but I really think he should have let me help pick the color. Did he overstep, or am I petty for being upset?
Signed, Baby Blue

Dear Blue,
Bear with me while I strain to imagine I'm a frail little human who sees the world in mere shapes and colors.

To start with, did your husband choose his color because he knew it would—yes I'll go there—get your goat? If so, I'd be happy to hound him through the fields, pricking his buttocks with a sharp stick! Or do you think, instead, that he simply had a free weekend and seized the day? If that's the case, your best move is to thank him kindly, and live with the new color for a while, until he goes off on, say, a hiking trip with his furry new friend. Then you can don your coveralls and paint the house any color you like. Best case, you'll goad him into a long-running paint battle, which I would enjoy, and your neighbors would too!

Dear Cunning Trickster of the Forest,
I'm on edge all the time these days, what with climate change and war and the constant, awful news cycle. Will things ever get better, or is the world a merry-go-round that spins faster and faster until we all fly off?
Signed, Dizzy Rider

Dear Dizzy,
Sometimes, even to me, it feels like Arcadia is slipping away. I'll tell you what I do when I feel that way: I take a nap. Have you tried napping on a broad, mossy stone in the woods? You absolutely should! You'll wake up feeling a thousand years younger! (Unless Apollo comes and yanks your tail. That rascal!) If you aren't near the woods, your next best option is another favorite of mine—grain alcohol! You won't meet a worry that can stand up for long to a pot of strong, distilled alcohol. And best of all, alcohol leads right into a nap, so it's a two-fer!

But yes, to answer your question, it is all getting worse, and will go on getting worse forever. More's the pity.

Dear Immortal Master of the Hunt,
My penny stocks have been doing well, but I'm wondering if now's the time to look at money market funds or treasury bonds. How concerned should I be about volatility in the...

Dear Fat Fieldmouse,
Gonna stop you there. I do not care.

Dear Ancient and Mysterious God of the Flute,
Urgent question: Let's say you spilled some red wine, that you weren't technically supposed to be drinking, on a sofa you weren't technically supposed to be lounging on, in a house you weren't technically supposed to be inside of, while your boyfriend's parents were in the Bahamas. Should I let my boyfriend take the blame, or throw myself at his parents' mercy?
Signed, Out, Out Damned Spot

Dear Scarlet Woman,
What's wrong with a tipple on your boyfriend's divan? Is that a sin? Not in my book!

Most importantly, don't try to bleach the stain. Even if it's a white couch, the bleached spot will stand out like the harvest moon. Instead, you'll want an oxygen-rich, non-bleach detergent. There's an excellent product called Chateau Spill that's formulated just for wine. (I'll lend you some, if you can't find it at the market.) Spray the stain with water, then work in the detergent, rinsing between applications. If you still can't get the stain out, try this: Have your boyfriend explain to his mother that, without her there to remind him, he failed to stay hydrated, and wound up with a nose bleed. Naturally it was her he wanted in his moment of need, but, in his state of abandonment, he called you. You gave him a cold compress, forced him to drink two glasses of water, and did your best to scrub the blood from the sofa. After which you blew him a kiss and left without delay.

His father won't believe that for a second, but you'll hand him a short, contrite note, along with the very rare bottle I've sent you by next-day air. You should find yourself quickly back in his good graces. Best of luck!