Immaculate Conception

Reading Dear Abby is one of my bad but unbreakable habits.

I particularly love to hate the letters from Bridezillas who want to know how to word invitations so they can request money instead of gifts, or generally want to control every aspect of "their day." I imagine Abby's staff members work hard to top each other by finding the most outrageous wedding stories.

But it wasn't a wedding-related complaint that got my attention today. No, in this case the joke is on not only the writer, but also the editorial staff of Dear Abby and the Pioneer Press, where I read the letter. Here goes:

When I was 23, single and living at home with a manipulative mother, I became pregnant and gave birth to a baby boy.

A miracle? Or an inattentive (or possibly nonexistent) copy editor? You decide.