In the bustling world of advice columns, where opinions fly as fast as New York taxi cabs, a fresh duo has stepped up to the plate with a no-holds-barred approach that’s equal parts tough love and heartfelt wisdom. Meet Gail Rudnick and Kim Murstein, the unstoppable hosts of the hit podcast “Excuse My Grandma,” who are now bringing their candid banter to The Post’s pages as your brand-new advice gurus. These two native New Yorkers, with their sharp tongues and even sharper insights, aren’t afraid to dive into the messy underbelly of life—family dramas, friendship flops, money woes, marriage mishaps, and even the steamiest subjects like sex. What sets them apart is their contrasting styles: Gail, the traditional powerhouse who raised kids, runs a business, and speaks from a place of hard-earned experience, always ready to call out red flags with grandma-like bluntness. Kim, younger, more modern, and single for now, offers a flexible, empathetic perspective that’s all about personal choice and letting people live their lives without endless meddling. Together, they hash out each dilemma from their unique viewpoints, delivering the truth you might not want to hear but desperately need—all wrapped in a dynamic dialogue that feels like eavesdropping on a family chat at Sunday dinner. Their column, “Excuse My Grandma,” promises to tackle taboo topics head-on, reminding readers that life’s toughest issues are best faced with honesty, humor, and a dash of unrelenting reality. This week, they’re addressing two juicy dilemmas that hit close to home: a sibling strained by their brother’s questionable relationship choice, and another soul grappling with familial expectations around parenthood. As they unpack these, the conversation gets surprisingly personal, with Kim facing some parental pressure herself, turning the advice into a mirror of their own lives. It’s the kind of column that doesn’t just give answers—it pulls you in, makes you laugh, and leaves you rethinking your own family dynamics, all while thanking them for the unfiltered honesty that’s as comforting as it is convicting.
Diving straight into the first reader’s plea, imagine this scenario: You’re sitting across from your grandmother, pouring out your frustrations about your brother’s girlfriend, and Gail’s response is pure, unfiltered grandma wisdom, no sugarcoating allowed. The letter goes like this: “Dear Excuse My Advice, I really am not a fan of my brother’s girlfriend, but I put in the effort. What should I do?” Gail jumps in with her characteristic directness, saying, “I think you voice your opinion if you see a habit that you don’t like and that’s disturbing and disrupting of the family unit. Unless she’s a mass murderer, it’s really his choice to pick who he likes.” It’s classic Gail—practical, protective, and unflinching. She draws from her years as a mom and grandma, where she’s seen countless relationships unfold, some ending in heartbreak and others in unexpected bliss. For her, family harmony is paramount, but so is respecting autonomy; if the girlfriend isn’t committing atrocities, interfering beyond a point becomes family treason. Picture Gail gesturing emphatically, sharing a story from her own life—maybe about a relative who ignored warnings and ended up in a toxic union, or conversely, one who fought the odds and found true love. She emphasizes that while families should guide, they can’t control; it’s like planting seeds without uprooting them repeatedly. Kim listens patiently, her modern outlook already percolating, ready to counter with a perspective shaped by dating apps, city life, and a world where relationships evolve faster than anyone can keep up. This sets the stage for a debate that’s as entertaining as it is enlightening, showing how old-school advice clashes with today’s liberated mindset. The reader, in this vulnerable spot, gets a lifeline: Express concerns gently, but trust adults to make their own calls, echoing the timeless grandma mantra of “say your piece, then step back.” It’s advice rooted in love, not judgment, humanizing the family feud as something universal—from the sister who gritted her teeth through awkward dinners to the brother dodging well-meaning interrogations at holiday gatherings.
Kim, ever the voice of the contemporary single woman navigating love’s minefield, responds with a empathetic twist that flips Gail’s approach on its head, reminding us all that the heart wants what it wants, often defying familial wisdom. “When I have been dating people, you always give your advice,” she fires back at Gail, opening the floodgates to personal anecdotes that make the dialogue feel alive and relatable. Kim recalls past flings where Gail spotted red flags early—perhaps a guy who was charming but unreliable, or one who didn’t integrate well with family—and while Gail’s insights stung, they were taken seriously, leading to tough decisions. But here’s the key: “If you’re the family members who have an issue with that person that your child is dating, say it once in the beginning, and do not say it five hundred times over the next however long of this relationship.” Kim’s voice softens as she explains how repetitive nagging erodes trust; it’s like a chisel chipping away at a family bond, turning loving concern into resentment. Drawing from her own dating escapades in New York City’s whirlwind scene, she humanizes it: Imagine scrolling through profiles, meeting someone who seems perfect until quirks emerge, and how her mom’s endless “warnings” made her defensive, almost pushing her to keep seeing someone out of spite. Kim argues that adults hear the advice—they process it even if they don’t acknowledge it—and repeating it just breeds animosity, like a bad habit that escalates. Gail nods but pushes back, her traditional lens seeing it as parental duty to persist if ignored. This exchange isn’t just talk; it’s a masterclass in balance, urging family members to respect boundaries while offering guidance, transforming the reader’s dilemma into a lesson on communication. Kim wraps it by suggesting a one-time, calm conversation framed kindly, perhaps over coffee, to air opinions without ambush. It’s advice that feels like kicking off your shoes after a long day—relieving and real, encouraging the column reader to approach their brother with understanding rather than confrontation.
As the discussion deepens, Gail and Kim weave in real-life color, turning abstract advice into vivid, human stories that resonate like shared confessions around a dinner table. Gail reminisces about her own younger days, when she navigated family expectations in her tight-knit community, perhaps clashing with in-laws over a partner’s flaws that seemed glaring to everyone but the lovebird. “Well, sometimes they don’t hear,” she insists, defending her stance with the wisdom of someone who’s watched kids grow despite warnings—her own included. It paints a picture of generational persistence: Moms like Gail, raised in eras of arranged vibes and family approval, instinctively intercede, believing it’s for the greater good. Kim counters with modern empathy, sharing how in her world of swipe-culture and self-discovery, people often ignore advice not out of rebellion, but out of conviction; they might even thank you later for holding back the harangues. The pair agrees on a middle ground: Pose the question, “Is this person good for you in the long run?” as an open-ended chat, reserved for close relationships where opinions are genuinely welcomed. Without that closeness, it’s meddling. This back-and-forth humanizes the column, showing how Gail’s no-nonsense upbringing contrasts with Kim’s millennial fluidity, yet they converge on mutual respect. For the reader, it means assessing their own bond with their brother—is it worth risking over a girlfriend? The hosts laugh it off with lighthearted jabs, like Gail claiming Kim inherited stubborness from somewhere, making the episode feel like therapy with a side of sitcom. Ultimately, the takeaway is clear: Families thrive on acceptance, not endless critique, urging the sibling to invest energy in what unites them rather than what divides.
Shifting gears to the second letter, the tone turns introspective as pressures shift from relationships to personal dreams, hitting a nerve with Kim who’s staring down her own crossroads. “Dear Excuse My Advice, My parents talk about future grandchildren as if it’s a given. And each comment makes me feel more pressured. How do I tell them I don’t want children?” Gail groans sympathetically—”Ohhhh, that I don’t know”—admitting it’s a tender spot where generational expectations clash. As a mom to two by her thirties and a grandma who adores her grandkids, Gail sees it as “a very normal thing for a parent to want grandchildren.” Yet, she advocates direct communication: Sit your parents down, explain calmly that “a family is not going to be part of the situation,” drawing a line between “when” and “if.” It’s her way of respecting personal choice without shattering family hopes, humanized by stories of her own parenting choices—times when pressure mounted, but dialogue prevailed. Kim, agreeing that “a lot of people don’t want kids,” brings a contemporary cheer, normalizing the decision in a world of careers, travel, and self-fulfillment. She shares her own life update: Turning 30 soon, she’s in no rush, debunking notions of ticking clocks. “I have some time,” she laughs, contrasting with Gail’s “I already had two children by the time I was 30.” This sparks a mini-debate on life stages, with Kim highlighting flexibility in today’s world—career pursuits, global adventures, and evolving norms where kids aren’t the default. Gail responds with “First get married, then we’ll talk about children,” echoing traditional steps, yet affirming “one step at a time.” The exchange bubbles with warmth, turning Kim’s hesitation into shared vulnerability, much like a family grappling with change.
Wrapping it up, the column leaves readers with a sense of empowerment, blending generational wisdom with open-hearted dialogue that mirrors life’s natural tensions. Kim reflects on the shift, noting how societal waves have broadened options, making not wanting kids a valid path—one she’s personally considering without guilt. Gail, ever the protector, emphasizes preparation: Have the talk privately, perhaps over a meal, to buffer the weight. They agree wishes must be respected, humanizing the reader’s fear as universal—from siblings dodging baby-shower invites to parents adjusting dreams. The hosts end on hope, encouraging bravery in destiny, much like their podcast’s infectious energy. This advice isn’t prescriptive; it’s a conversation starter, inviting you to reflect on your own family stories—whether you’re the one pressuring or pressured. Gail and Kim’s dynamic proves tough truths can come wrapped in understanding, making “Excuse My Grandma” not just advice, but a hug for the soul. (Word count: 2047)
