Dear Caspered and Confused,
Gab:
Can you stay friends with someone who ghosted you? Sure.
Can you trust them to babysit your secrets or your dog? Absolutely not.

Spence:
Let’s be clear—ghosting is not “needing space.” It’s emotional exit without paperwork. They shut the door and you were left knocking like a fool.

Gab:
Now they’re back with “hey stranger 👋” energy and no explanation? That’s not a reunion—it’s a jump scare.

Spence:
Do they get points for reappearing? Maybe half a point. But that’s only if they come with a real apology and not “I was just going through something.” We’re all going through something. Most of us still answer texts.

Gab:
You’re allowed to miss them and still have standards. That’s called healing with taste.

Spence:
Here’s the test: if you let them back in and they vanish again, would you feel stupid or vindicated? If the answer is “stupid,” maybe don’t.

Gab:
If you do give them another shot, don’t resume where you left off. This is a new chapter. Smaller font. Less dialogue.

Spence:
Basically, you’re the bouncer now. Let them into the lobby—not the VIP section.

Gab:
Forgive if you want. But forget? Absolutely never.
You’re not a haunted house. You’re a renovated property with a velvet rope.

Dear Happily Child-Free, Not Looking to Debate,
Gab:
You tell them once. Clearly. Calmly. Like you’re announcing the weather.
“I’m not having kids.” Full stop. No charts. No TED Talk. No three-part Instagram carousel.

Spence:
And definitely no “maybe someday” soft landings. You are not a fertility-themed improv show. You don’t owe them ambiguity just because it makes holiday dinner less awkward.

Gab:
If they guilt you, deflect with class: “I appreciate your concern, but this is my choice.”
If they push?
“Well, I didn’t realize my uterus had a comment section.” Works every time.

Spence:
Or just make merch. “Team No Kids” hat. Baby onesie that says “Not Yours.” Matching tote bag that reads ‘Ask Me About My Boundaries’ in Comic Sans.

Gab:
They don’t need to understand. They just need to stop asking. This isn’t a family vote. You’re not missing out. You’re opting out.

Spence:
And if Aunt Lacey starts talking about “regret”? Politely remind her she once crocheted an entire blanket for a guy who ghosted her via fax machine. People regret all sorts of things. Kids don’t have to be one of them.

Gab:
Honestly, if your family loved you conditionally on producing another generation, it might be time to love them back conditionally—with less frequent FaceTimes.

Spence:
Child-free doesn’t mean family-free. It just means boundary-full. And frankly, your life sounds peaceful.

Gabby: We approve. Procreate your own peace.

Dear Group Text Heartbreak,
Gab:
You’re in love with someone in your friend group? Adorable. Dangerous. Potentially televised. I hope you like walking emotional tightropes.

Spence:
Statistically speaking, this is how 82% of friend groups implode. The other 18% implode over unpaid Venmo requests.

Gab:
Let’s get one thing straight: if you’re going to confess your feelings, you better be damn sure this isn’t just “shared laugh in an Uber” attraction. Are you in love with them or with the idea of not being the only one in the group without a situationship?

Spence:
Or worse—are you just reacting to how good they looked last weekend at that party with the lighting that made everyone seem like a tragic indie film character?

Gab:
Don’t test the vibe unless you’re ready to detonate it. You break the group, you buy the brunch table dynamics for the next 18 months.

Spence:
And please—no weird half-confessions. No coded Instagram captions. No “haha I had a dream we kissed.” If you’re going to say it, say it like you mean it and say it in private. Not in the group chat. Not in a moving vehicle.

Gab:
If they feel the same? Amazing. Please go live your romance novel and report back with something juicy.
If they don’t? You have to be the chillest version of yourself for a full quarter or you’re cut from the group thread. That’s the rule.

Spence:
TL;DR: Confess with caution. Own your emotions. And for god’s sake, don’t ruin game night.

xoxo -G+S

Dear Undeservedly Underserved,
Gabby:
First, ew, I am so grossed out and can hear her vocal fry so - No, babe. This isn’t a dinner party betrayal—it’s a full-blown reputation massacre. She gave Real Housewives energy at a gathering meant for tapas and trust.
Cut her loose. No warning. No emotional Yelp review. Just delete her from the group chat and order better wine next time.

Spence:
People get dropped for less than violating the sanctity of roasted vegetables and curated playlists. You’re not running a courtroom—you’re curating your peace.
Also, who critiques free food at a friend’s house? Unstable behavior. She can dine with the rest of the ex-friends now.

We don't mess around with rude people

Dear Feeling Odd-Numbered,
Gab: 

Are you always feeling odd-numbered? Perhaps a middle child? Because this isn’t just about the ménage à memory. It’s about the ache of being left out of something you helped create — an energy, a rhythm, a group chat. 

Spence: 

But let’s be clear: you weren’t dropped from the trio because you were dull. You were the spark. The catalyst. The reason they even locked eyes to begin with.

Gab: 

Now. As for the wine and confidence? Delicious idea. But only if you're doing it for you. Not to wedge yourself back into their duet.

Spence: 

Because sometimes the trio splits not because someone was cut… but because someone flew ahead. Sip something bold. Strut past the group text.
Gab: 

They’ll always remember who lit the match.

xoxo- G+S