I was eating a square knish tonight, and it reminded me of when my Dad would take me with him to volunteer at our synagogue's Bingo Night. We sold the knishes to the Bingo players, and I'd usually bring home $3 or $4 in tips. I was about 9, and I loved it.

While eating the knish tonight, I wrote this Dear Abby letter in my head.

Dear Abby,
I am a Certified Public Accountant. I also volunteer at my Church, helping fellow parishioners get their finances in order. One lady whom I've been helping is in real trouble. She's delinquint in paying her son's tuition bills, and as a result he may have to drop out of school. She misses work because she cannot afford to replace or fix her unreliable car.

I also volunteer at our Church's Bingo night. Abby, she's there every week, playing at least $50 worth of cards. I don't know if she has a gambling problem or simply enjoys the game, but I feel I'm wasting my time trying to help her. Should I speak to her about her habit, or is it none of my business? And am I morally required to give her financial advice if she's just going to throw her money away?
Signed,
Fed Up

Eh? I have no idea where this person came from. He must have been living in my head all along. The knish woke him up. Maybe he'll do my taxes.