Recently, one of my weekly witterings was featured on the WordPress dashboard and while that’s a huge accolade (actually, not to brag but it’s my second experience of being “Freshly Pressed”. Ok, I’m totally bragging but hey, let’s not pretend you wouldn’t do the same), it hasn’t come without its baggage. Yes, this was a huge boost to the ego, and stopped me dead in my tracks just as I was telling a friend that I was going to quit all this blogging malarkey due to thinking I’m a bit pants, it was also a HUGE boost in hits and subscribers. The trouble is, what these people had all read and signed up for, was a heartfelt, rare moment of emotional outpouring. The truth of the matter is that here on Pretty Feet, Pop Toe I’m more likely to be threatening eye pokes, shin kicks and spewing venom and rage at anything and anyone who isn’t me.
Well, seeing as how a vast number of people mistook me for some sort of relationship guru and great supporter of all things emotional, I’ve decided to turn my hand to being an agony aunt for this week. This is definitely going to end well.
I didn’t have time to ask you lot for your weird and sordid problems in advance so we’re going to have to make do with ones I gleaned by eaves dropping at a church confessional. Not really, as IF I’d set foot inside a church! I made them up.
Dear PFPT,
My son is 34 and still lives at home. He hasn’t had a job for over a year and says there are none out there but I’m getting sick of him lying on my sofa all day, eating food that I’ve paid for. How can I help him?
Yours,
Apron Strings
PFPT: Dear Apron Strings, send him to the shops for some sweets with the free “pocket money” you keep doling out, then when he’s out of sight, lock the doors and get yourself a pet to mollycoddle like a baby instead. If he won’t get off the sofa, setting it alight should see him move pretty sharpish.
Dear PFPT,
My friends say I drink too much and that I spend all my time in the pub so I must be an alcoholic. I tell them I can handle it and that I just like a drink. Do you think I have a drinking problem?
Yours,
Sozzled
PFPT: I’m sorry, you seem to have your problem all wrong. I think what you mean to say is “my friends are all boring judgemental gits”. You sound like fun. When you’ve ditched your sanctimonious social crew, call me!
Dear PFPT,
Recently I’ve been noticing some odd behaviour from my husband. He always comes home from work late and is very secretive of his phone, plus the sex has all but gone from our relationship. Do you think he could be having an affair?
Yours
Suspicious
PFPT: Probably. She’s also probably half your age, half your size, has perky boobs and hasn’t squirted out three kids, like you have. Get yourself a bloody good lawyer and a toyboy.
Dear PFPT,
I realised some time ago that I’m gay but I’m scared to come out to my friends and family in case they reject me. What should I do?
Yours,
Closeted
PFPT: Well Closeted, what you do behind closed doors is your own business and it’s up to you who you tell, however, there are millions of fag hags across the globe desperate for their own personal woolly-woofter and they’re currently sat at home, alone, with no-one to sing disco tunes and bitch about the Kardashians’ posteriors with. Don’t deprive them any longer. Oh, and how are you going to find a hot husband if you’re still pretending you want a hot wife?!
Dear PFPT,
I’m being bullied at work by my colleague who constantly undermines me and calls me names in front of everyone. I feel so low that I’m thinking of quitting the job I love. How should I handle this professionally?
Yours,
Fish Breath
PFPT: Being a consummate professional myself, I know exactly how to handle problems in the work place. Take a dump in their desk drawer. If that doesn’t work, take another dump in their drawer and tell HR they keep human faeces in their desk. Job done, in more ways than one.
Dear PFPT,
I’ve been with my boyfriend for 3 years and I desperately want a baby but he doesn’t. I know he’ll come round to the idea and love it eventually. Shall I trick him into having one anyway?
Yours,
Hungry Uterus
PFPT: Yes, and then after you’ve stolen his man-seeds, go and drain all his money too and then explain to your child why Daddy threw himself under a train. Seriously? If you’re that desperate for stretch marks and cracked nipples, go and have an anonymous one night stand and hope he’s not a serial killer. Personally, I’ll be rooting for the serial killer.
Dear PFPT,
I’m madly in love with a close friend but he says he doesn’t love me back, even though I’m pretty sure he does. What can I do to make him see sense?
Yours,
Delusional
PFPT: So, he told you he doesn’t love you? There’s a really complex hidden reason for this, but let me strip away all the jargon and double meanings – the reason he told you he doesn’t love you is because HE DOESN’T LOVE YOU. You’re welcome.
Dear PFPT,
I’m thinking of brightening up my home with some pot plants that are simple to maintain and produce brightly coloured flowers. Any suggestions?
Yours,
Green Fingers
PFPT: No
There you have it folks, my caring, sharing, warm and fuzzy side, laid bare for all to see was clearly some freak magnetic storm passing overhead or hormonal episode. If you want my advice, be warned, I really will give it to you and you probably won’t like it. Now, for those of you brave enough, I dare you to send your problems my way using the comments section below for some good old fashioned PFPT tough love! Oh, and remember, a problem shared is a problem we can all gossip about.
Pretty Feet, Pop Toe 
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