A Perfectly Satirical Advice Column

Who's got a question they want answered? Who's dying for solicited advice that was only solicited because I figured the answers would make for a good column? No pushing, people....form a single file line right here. Who's first?

Dear Aspiring Mama: Where have all my winter socks gone?

-- LainaSpareTime


(May I call you Laina?)

Your socks have obviously run away and eloped with my missing winter socks, as is evidenced by the spectacular number of unmatched singles I currently have taunting me in the basket in my living room. I'm going to assume your next question to me will be "But why? Why did my socks leave me, Pauline? Did I not show them enough affection? Did I expect too much of them?" And to be perfectly frank, the answer is this: Your socks left you because of that weird I Don't Like Other People Touching My Feet Rule of yours that keeps you from getting a pedicure. Because really, do you want to hug a foot that hasn't been dipped in paraffin at least twice in the last four weeks?


Dear Aspiring Mama: I've always wanted to know-- How do I deal with that not so fresh feeling?

-- Saving for Someday

Always a tough one. Let me figure out how many licks it takes to get to the center of this Tootsie Pop and help Foreigner figure out what love is and then I promise I'll answer your question.

Dear Aspiring Mama: My boys are hitting puberty! Help! What do I do?


As the mother of a four-year-old girl who will eventually be dating, I am perfectly qualified to answer this question for you. Actually, I'm lying and in desperate need of advice on how far to run when my daughter realizes she has hormones. In fact, I've also been wondering if I'm totally doing this parenting thing wrong and if I should start funneling some of her college savings into a Future Therapy Slush Fund. Your thoughts?

Dear Aspiring Mama: My girlfriend's workout gear gives her camel toe. What is the most polite way to tell her?

-- Ooph

My immediate response would be to get a new girlfriend, but that would be mean and superficial. So let's try Plan B: ask her to go shopping with you for some new workout gear. Be sure to reverse your usual I'm Not Coming Out of the Dressing Room Unless it Looks Good rule and save the Please God, Let No One I Know Be Within View of My Spandex outfits for the friend to critique. I'd suggest waiting till that time of the month and only shopping after you downed a pint of Ben & Jerry's. Or two. It might help to only choose clothing two sizes too small. Don't worry. Spandex totally stretches.

Because Camel Toe is a condition that is not noticeable upon oneself until it has been observed on others, your friend will trip over herself trying to steer you into more flattering styles of clothing, silently cheering herself for saving your dignity and sparing the rest of us a view we just didn't want to see. Be sure to spare her dignity by timing a trip to the ladies room while she's trying on her stuff in the room with the mirror. That'll give her time to process the CT she's been sporting, fast forward through the five stages of embarrassment, and text her husband about how much trouble he's in for not paying attention when she asked if This Looks Good and he totally answered without looking.


There ya have it, folks. Next time, I'm charging.


This column originally appeared (in a rated G-version, of course) on An Army of Ermas.