I don't know what has changed for me, but something has happened. When I read the drivel that Dear (mindless) Prudie writes, I feel pity and that's not good. It's like the letters describe people without heart, soul, and brainwaves. I always try to believe that real people couldn't be that dumb although I know better. They need caretakers. There is nothing in the form of advice that can save the truly mindless from the ruin that comes of following their strange desires.
Each of you has a niche. Schuyler and Messy have snark covered very well. I don't have much to add to their humorous comments about the weekly dose of preposterous situations that Prudie's alleged letter writers put themselves in.
Mermaid, the sweetest and kindest and gentlest of us, has empathy covered. Somehow, Mermaid manages to turn the brain dead imaginary letter writers into people deserving of compassion. They may never read, let alone accept such kind and reasonable advice, but the advice is out there. Good job!
The Slate editors really hate it when you criticise anything their writers put to paper, especially when it is in the form of a fake reader post. It's why we all left there, but now that it's done there are no inflated Slate egos to poke at. Maybe that's my problem.