Gossip, Ghosts, and Garden Gloves – Ask Bridget O’Shea
Absolutely! Here’s April’s full-length edition of “Ask Bridget O’Shea – Cowesport’s Most Opinionated Advice Column,” coming in at over 1000 words of good-natured sass, unsolicited wisdom, and small-town charm:
Right, lads and lasses, we’ve officially made it through March without anyone getting arrested (though not for lack of trying—I’m looking at you, Finn O’Shea) and Cowesport is blooming with daffodils, drama, and deeply questionable decisions.
This month, your letters ran the gamut from the sincerely baffling to the downright bonkers, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. There’s something in the spring air, I tell you—a little chaos, a little curiosity, and a whole lot of meddling. Just the way I like it.
Let’s get to it, shall we?
Dear Bridget,
I recently overheard my neighbor telling someone that I “don’t rinse my recycling” and that I “cheat at pub trivia.” I do rinse (usually), and I’ve never cheated in my life! Should I confront her or let it go?
— Maligned and Mildly Furious
Bridget’s Reply:
Oh love, this is small-town slander at its finest. And let me tell you, pub trivia accusations are taken more seriously in Cowesport than actual crimes.
You’ve got two options, and I approve of both:
- Confront her, calmly and with receipts. Invite her to your house and—very casually—show her your sparkling clean recycling bin. Then say, “Strange, isn’t it, how rumors start?” and hand her a plate of homemade scones. That’s psychological warfare with baked goods.
- Beat her at trivia—loudly and publicly. Bonus points if you answer a question about waste management or petty gossip. Look her in the eye while you do it.
In short: don’t let her get away with it, but don’t lose your class over it either. Rise above—with a little vengeance for flavor.
Dear Bridget,
I think my house might be haunted. Things keep going missing, the lights flicker when I talk about my ex, and my dog refuses to go near the attic. Should I get a priest, a psychic, or just move?
— Spooked in Cowesport
Bridget’s Reply:
All right, sweetheart, first of all: don’t panic. Cowesport houses are like old men—a bit creaky, full of secrets, and prone to odd smells and muttering.
Here’s your checklist:
- Make sure it’s not just bad wiring.
- Check that your “missing items” aren’t simply in your coat pockets or the fridge. (Don’t laugh—I once found my glasses in the butter dish.)
- If your dog won’t go near the attic, trust the dog.
That said, I do know a lovely psychic named Miss Fenella, who does readings behind the flower shop on Wednesdays. She once told me I’d be kissed by a stranger at a funeral. It turned out to be a drunk cousin from Donegal, but the point is—she’s got something.
You don’t need to move. You need a candle, a bit of salt on the windowsill, and a good talking-to directed toward the attic. “You can stay if you’re quiet and don’t mess with my stuff.” Works nine times out of ten.
Dear Bridget,
Is it too early in the season to start passive-aggressively judging my neighbor’s weeding efforts?
— Green Thumb, Sharp Eye
Bridget’s Reply:
Darling, it’s never too early for passive-aggression in the garden. That’s half the point of spring.
But let’s keep it classy. Here’s how to do it without landing yourself on the “Prying Eyes and Pointed Comments” list at the next town hall meeting:
- Offer her a cheerful wave while loudly complimenting “how brave” she is for using that much mulch.
- Casually mention that you just read an article about how “some people overwater and never even know it.”
- Start gifting her “low-maintenance” plants, which she’ll absolutely interpret as a judgment on her current state of landscaping.
Subtlety is your shears, darling. Use them wisely.
Dear Bridget,
My partner wants to name our new puppy “Mr. Pickle.” I want to name him “Cú,” after the Irish word for hound. We are at an impasse. What do we do?
— Name-Stuck in Love
Bridget’s Reply:
This is serious. Naming a dog is a lifelong commitment. You’ll be yelling this name across parks, vet offices, and possibly at the Garda station depending on the dog’s behavior.
“Mr. Pickle” is adorable, I won’t lie. It says whimsical chaos.
“Cú” is noble, strong, and deeply Irish. It says warrior of the house.
So why not compromise? Full name: Cú Pickle O’Fluff.
Call him “Cú” at home and “Mr. Pickle” when he’s being ridiculous (which will be often). That way, everyone wins and the dog gets a dual identity worthy of a small-town legend.
Dear Bridget,
How do I know if someone’s flirting with me, or if they’re just being nice? Asking for myself (but I wish I weren’t).
— Oblivious in the Romance Department
Bridget’s Reply:
Ah yes, the age-old dilemma. Especially here in Cowesport, where everyone knows everyone and kindness, sarcasm, and subtle seduction all look suspiciously similar.
Here are your tells:
- If they ask questions about your day, they’re being polite.
- If they remember what you ordered last week and bring it without asking, they’re flirting.
- If they tease you gently while standing just a little too close, they’re definitely flirting.
- If they tease you aggressively while pretending they’re not interested, they’re Irish.
If you’re not sure, flirt back—lightly. A well-timed compliment, a laugh that lingers just a second too long, or (my personal favorite) the “accidental touch while reaching for the same biscuit” trick. Works wonders.
And if they pull away? You’ve lost nothing but your biscuit. If they lean in? Well now, isn’t that interesting?
Final Thoughts from Bridget
This month’s advice has taught us a few things, dear readers:
- Keep your gossip accurate and your bins rinsed.
- Trust your pets when it comes to ghosts.
- A well-placed compliment or scone can solve most interpersonal problems.
- Spring is the perfect time to stir the pot—just mind you don’t fall in.
As always, if you’ve got a question, problem, or mystery you need sorted (whether it’s of the heart, the garden, or the ghostly variety), drop your letter in the Fox & Thistle Bookshop suggestion box—or hand it to me directly at The Hare & Hound, where I’ll be judging pub trivia, critiquing fashion choices, and offering unsolicited advice whether you want it or not.
Until next time—keep your heads high, your boots dry, and your gossip accurate.
Cheers, darlings,
Bridget O’Shea