Am I going to be an astronaut when I grow up?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

Am I going to be an astronaut when I grow up?

Where are your parents?  And why aren’t they answering this question?  Mummy needs to get off the bottle and Daddy needs to zip up his diaper bag.

All I can give you kiddo, is some truthful advice.  And I’m going to warn you, it might not be the sparking ‘reach for the stars’ advice Mummy has been giving you all this time.  And while we’re on the subject, let me explain what she means by that.  She’s not being literal.  She’s not talking about the twinkle, twinkle, little stars you’ve been singing about - she’s talking about the stars that shimmy on the red carpet.  She doesn’t care what kind of star you reach for, as long as it nets you enough money to prop up her pharmaceutical drug habit.  That’s why she’s been cutting your hair to look like Justin Bieber.

But back to your question.  The answer is no, you’re never going to be an astronaut.  Why?  Because NASA are taking their bat, ball, helmets and jumpsuits and going home.  Apparently the moon is just a big black hole that sucks money through its vortex. (… I know, I know… That’s what Daddy says about Mummy…) 

But there’s not much to do on the moon other than plant flags and moonbuggy around.  There’s no Target’s, no petrol stations and no brothels.  So really, what’s the point in going up there?  And there’s even less to do on the space station.  All you’ll end up doing is mucking around, eating chewy, sardine bars and peeing in your pants.  It might work for you now, but you’ll get bored of it very quickly.

But if you still really like the thrust of a good engine, I suggest you give Richard Branson a call.  He’s the next King in line to reach Mars and that’s the only way you’re ever going to fly boy.

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

How do I get a girl like that?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

There's this customer at work that I find extremely attractive and beautiful, but she is completely out of my league.  She works in a much higher position and is earning probably way more that me, is very classy and absolutely stunning.  I'm crazy about her.  How could I possibly approach, let alone get a girl like that?  Do you have any tips?

Oh my god.  I'm amazed you managed to set your sentence structure to 'coherent'.  I'm guessing you were wailing like the big baby you are as you were typing your question.  I can just imagine the salty tears flooding in betwen the keyboard keys.  So my first piece of advice is to mop up the mess, blow your nose and read my further advice.

A man only has one role in life and that's to be downtrodden and/or heartbroken by a woman.  If a man isn't feeling one of these emotions at any one time, he's not a real man.  By the sound of your question, it seems like you have a case of both.  This means there's nothing wrong with you and you're doing everything right.  However, it also sounds like you're not operating in a rational state of mind, so I'm going to have to adjust my answer.

There's nothing worse in the world than unrequited love.  Nothing worse.  And that includes having crabs.  Or being bitten by a crab.  These situations can be cured easily with either a cream or a scream.  But there's no cure for a debilitating crush.  You can spend your days giving googly eyes to this obviously ungrateful woman with nothing in return other than a demand for you to do something work related.  Come to think of it, she sounds like a real bitch.

But there's no accounting for taste, so my advice is that you should go for it.  It'll end up one of two ways.  If she turns you down, you'll be heartbroken.  If she doesn't turn you down, you'll be forever downtrodden.  That means you're a real man and life is good.

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

Is there a daily quota of 'bless yous'?

The cold season has already started and I’m sick and tired of blessing everyone after they sneeze.  I wait the obligatory couple of seconds to see if anyone else will do it and they don’t.  Why is it always left up to me to bless people?  Do I have a daily quota of ‘bless you’s’?  If I do, what’s the number?  Surely it’s more than a serial killer and less than a priest ??

Hey.  Leave the comedy to me.  Stop cutting my grass.  You don’t see me coming to YOUR workplace, facilitating YOUR powerpoint presentations, drinking YOUR coffee and hitting on YOUR secretary.  Ask your question, read the answer, subscribe and move on.  That’s what happens here.  Pull your head in. 

Now, let’s get something out of the way.  I never really liked you at work.  There's so many reasons but I must confess, I found your ‘bless you’s’ especially irritating.  I don’t care what you say; you never waited the obligatory couple of seconds.  You were all over the 'bless you’s' like a fat kid to chocolate cake.  As soon as someone slightly heaved to a sneeze, you scooted to their workpod with a ‘bless you’ half way out your mouth.  If you actually worked that quick, you’d be a respected member of society. 

You’re so disturbed you’d bring a box of tissues to our weekly meetings.  Everyone knew you were subliminally sending messages, just waiting for your next snot fix.  You rang people up at home when they called in sick - as they held the most promise.  You could hear a sneeze on the next building.  You  deliberately became a First Aid officer so you could trawl the floor like a lady of the night, looking for her next John.  You’d deliberately get sick, come in to work and spread the germs, just so you could play God and bless everyone.

And do you know what?  You’re not God, so stop acting like it.  Also, you’re not a comedian, so knock it off.  Do your job.  Whatever that is.

How should I prepare the potato's?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,
I have a dinner issue.  I have some lamb tenderloin and an amazing homemade eight bean salad, so how should I prepare the potato’s?

You really are ugly and unhappy aren’t you?   When you walk into a room, lights start flickering and the temperature drops.  You're loud, annoying and have a dumb stare like a German Sheppard wearing a hat.  (I’d normally say 'bulldog with a bow-tie' but that’s too upmarket for you).  You give your fellow American’s a bad name.  Yeah, you’re that bad.  I regret the day we met and spend a lot of energy trying to avoid you.

Now, to your potato’s.  If you asked a hundred people how to prepare your potato’s, you’d get a hundred different answers.  You’ll hear all kinds of various ways to boil, broil, fry or roast.  If someone’s really listening, they’ll ask you if you have a regular potato or if its underappreciated cousin, the sweet potato. If you ask a Wiggle, he’ll tell you to mash your hot potato. 

But watch out for the free advice red herring.  It comes in the form of something called ‘Deb’.  And I’m not talking about your ex-girlfriend Deb - as nice and tolerant as she is.  No, this Deb is 115 grams of powdery potato particles for 'potato on-the-go'.  The picture on the packet makes the dish look appetising but in reality, it ends up turning into a lumpy potato drink.  Deb (the potato drink) is such a cult hit that it has its own Facebook page.  True.  Comments range from ‘Deb is epic’ to ‘Deb tastes like dog food’.  Only one of these comments is true.  I’ll let you decide.

But if you really want to get the most out of your potato, use it correctly.  It’s called Vodka.

Should I get a sea turtle as a pet?

Dear Agony Aunt,

I’d like to get an exotic pet but the laws prevent me importing large sea turtles. Do you have any advice on how I can possibly get around this or could you recommend another animal that would be cool to own and is available in Australia?

Sea turtle hey?  Yeah.  Come to think of it, a sea turtle seems like a perfect companion for you.  Slow, prehistoric and surly looking.  You know that look well - an expression of constant and painful constipation.  Also, it’s been documented that sea turtles take decades to reach sexual maturity.  So, at the moment, I can’t think of a better pet for you.   

But just because a turtle is your ideal pet, doesn’t mean you’re theirs.  I say this because of a lunch we had a couple of months ago.  Yeah, you remember the one.  This is where you said that watching me eat was like ‘putting a turtle on its back and watching it try and get up again’.  Yeah, yeah, you’re hilarious.  Knee slapping, belly busting, wikileaking, hilarious. 

It’s for this reason I urge you not to get a turtle.  And make no mistake, if you get caught in customs with a turtle down your pants, I’ll be the first one down there spouting your lack of turtlery care.  I’ll tell customs that I can just imagine your new pet, ‘Mr Bojangles’, spending his life on his back, really angry and really cranky.  It might’ve been good enough for your ex-girlfriend but a turtle deserves better.

So, this brings me to my advice.  Forget turtles.  Forget cats.  Forget fish and forget anything that has eyes.  But if you really have to have a pet, like, right now, start small.  Cactus small.  Sure, it might prick you when you touch it - just like your ex-girlfriend but it doesn’t require any formal attention for extended periods of time.  Also, some cactus plants are hermaphrodites, meaning they’re able to have sex with themselves.  Wow… forget the turtle, a cactus is your perfect match.

Do I have to keep contributing?

Dear Agony Aunt,

With all these natural disasters of late, including the millions of fish dying en-mass and hundreds of thousands of birds falling from the sky at once, do you think it’s the end of the world?  If so, do I really need to keep contributing to my superannuation?

Well, well, well.  When they were giving out compassion and sensitivity, I bet you were in the back of the line painting your toenails.  Natural disasters are more than birds and fish.  Real people died.  So before I get into it, I’m pressing my index fingers to my temple, closing my eyes really tight and wishing you some kind of karma payback tomorrow.  I hope your boss gives you the sack.  Then you’ll really have to worry about superannuation.  But if by some karma miscarriage of justice, you make it through the work day, this is your answer.

Superannuation is the worst form of gambling.  It's betting you’ll make it to your wrinkly gold watch.  What’s worse is that it isn’t called gambling, it’s called ‘saving’.  And not your traditional piggy bank saving where you can listen to your money clink and grow.  No.  This 'saving' is where some stranger holds your ‘invisible’ money and every year apologises for 'losing' some of it.  They call it ‘market losses’ and ‘administrative fees’.  What a scam.

But it doesn’t end there.  Not only are you losing money, but you’re forced to bet on your actual life end date.  You see, if you don’t save enough, you’ll only be able to go to the hairdresser once every six months for your blue dye.  However, if you save too much, you’re ugly, greedy and ungrateful kids will get all the money.  This is probably worse of the two scenarios because with all that excess money, you could’ve bought a motorbike and/or had a high-class hooker for a week.

So my advice to you is that you should pick a number and stick to it.  The current world average for life expectancy is 67.2.  This is actually a good number for you as it’s same as your IQ.  So do the maths and say goodbye to your money.  But having said all that, there are always unforseen variables.  Watch out for flying mackerels.

Should I date Charlie Sheen?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt

I recently did a celebrity internet quiz on Valentines Day and found out my ideal partner is Charlie Sheen.  This is great but I worry about his crazy behaviour.  Do you think he’ll be able to commit to me without the pain of associated addiction?  His track record hasn’t been the greatest and I wonder if we could see it through thick and thin.

Oh my god.  My life just got that little bit worse.  Birds stopped chirping, thunderstorms have started crackling in the distance and I think there’s a little vomit in my mouth.

Are you serious?  Charlie’s got enough problems to deal with.  I’m guessing that putting up with you - even being introduced to you will send him over the edge.  He’s a talent - a drunk guy, playing a drunk guy and that kind of talent is rare.  Being anywhere near you would be the end of his sparkling career and I won’t have any part of it.

What you need to do is stay away from the internet.  If you can’t do that, then stay away from any kind of quizzes.  This includes surveys, IQ tests and internet banking.  Society can’t afford to have the internet break down because of one stupid person.  And while you’re at it, maybe it might also be a good idea to stay away from people.  Oh my god - I just got a shiver.  Maybe you’re family/friends just cheered.  I can’t be sure.

But what I can be sure of is that you’re an idiot.  It’s a guess - an educated guess - but I’m guessing Charlie Sheen doesn’t date girls who surf the net and do quizzes on Valentines Day.  I’m guessing he only dates girls who are already on the internet.  And do you know what, good luck to him.

For all the problems he has, his problems are okay.  They only involve a 90 day stint at Betty Ford and a lot of hugs and support.  Your problems on the other hand are much harder to deal with.  And you’re not paying me by the hour but should be seeing someone who does.  If it's good enough for Charlie, it's good enough for you.

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

What happens after 'hello'?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

A co-worker said hello and I said hello back.  Then a couple of seconds of silence passed and they said a sarcastic ‘good thanks’.  My problem is that, I don’t remember asking them how they were because I distinctly remember not caring.  Do I have to ask EVERYONE how they are when I see them?

This is why you should never date your co-workers.  After the initial burst of effervescent bubbly love has turned into a murky, icky and sticky, stinky bog, you both still have to occasionally talk to each other.  This is where passive aggressive conversations reign supreme and sarcasm lifts its skirt to show a bit of leg.  

You see, sarcasm is the ‘smart’ of dumb people.  Sarcasm has a little bit of wit but it’s so lacking, it needs to be served with a side dish of tone.  And you need tone when you’re trying to make a sad and pathetic point.  Sarcasm gives you the 'snippy' without the ‘snappy’.  So if that’s the kind of relationship you want, my advice is - ‘Snip, snap, front and back’. 

However, if you’re after the fool proof stuff, I’ve got that for you as well.  This is becuase you sound like a real fool.  So here we go.  If you want to stop having to ask people how they are, you need to tell everyone you love them.  Yes, you read right, tell everyone you love them. 

Tell Dickie from the Mailroom you love him.  Tell Vaz in Accounting you love her.  Tell your boss, your boss’ boss, the guy that delivers the milk and the massage man that visits once a month.  I'm serious. Everyone.  Don’t discriminate.  Practice your heart felt, ‘I love you’ in the mirror, then let loose.  Be consistent and don't miss a single person.  Be brave.  Be bold.  Squeeze into that lunch line and tell EVERYONE you’re life is that more colourful with them in it and gosh damn, you just love them for it. 

Once you do this, all you need to do is walk around and smile.  Why?  Because you're happy.  This is because after a short period of time, EVERYONE will stop saying hello and you’ll already know how they’re feeling.  Frightened.  Very, very frightened.

Can a friend copy your child's name?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

My sister-in-law recently had a baby girl and called her ‘Eden’.  Her pregnant friend visited them in hospital and a couple of weeks later had a baby boy.  She called her baby boy, Eden.  Can a friend copy or steal your child's name?  I mean, most of us only have a couple of children, out of the thousands of baby names out there, shouldn’t they just back off?

If nothing else, life is a race to see who can get through the birth canal first.  In most cases, head first.  But in some, bum first.  And that explains a lot about a lot of people.  Especially those people who give their children unrealistic and un-subbed first names.

You know what I’m talking about.  Jack with two kay’s.  Jakk.  Peter with a silent eff.  Pfeter.   A first name merger.  Joyanne.  Phonetic name spelling.  Aalivyah.  Rebellion for the sake of rebellion.  Kymberleigh.  Then there’s just the random pot-pourri names. Charismatage.  Q’Dell.  Sham.  Torianna-Sharisse.  The parents responsible for this crime against humanity argue ‘individuality’.  I just argue ‘breech birth’.

So let me tell you what should happen.  Every hospital should have a fat and cranky matron heading the registry department who knows how to wield a red nikko pen.  She’ll be expertly trained to give any new parent a spectacular death stare through her judgemental glasses and give a squeaky red cross when you put a vowel or a consentient in the wrong place.  That’ll stop all your ZowiMitchyl’s, Quintynn’s, Maddisyn’s and Jaeson’s.  

But back to your question about name copyright.  This is a prime example as to why you should never share things with your friends.  Skirts never get returned.  Cars come back with bumper dings.  Boyfriends never look the same.  And the same goes with baby names.  Your sister-in-law should’ve either lied about her child’s name or put an embargo on the name.  In layman’s terms, she should’ve called ‘dibs’.  So really in this case, she’s only got herself to blame.

Having said that, your sister’s friend seems like she was born breech and would still do something stupid by having twin girls and calling them Jasmine and Jasmine - then wonder why Centrelink will only pay her for one child. 

Can You Babysit My Kids?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt

My husband and I are going away for the weekend and our babysitter has cancelled.  Can you look after the kids for a couple of days?  Kelly is four and Richard is two and a half.

Sure thing.  Maybe Richard could teach me how to use my mobile phone and Kelly could help me install a firewall. 

We could play games like, why loud banging is important, where to safely hide the mushy and smelly banana and ‘Hot And Cold’ - The Kitchen version.  I’ll also introduce them to a new game  called the ‘No’ game.  It’s where every answer is no but you have to work from a yell to a shrill.  Your kids sound smart; I’m confident they’ll catch on.

I’m happy to hold Q&A sessions from everything ranging from - ‘Why You Look Like Mummy’s Boss’ to ‘Tattoo’s: Short term pain, long term gain’.  We can debate issues like whether it’s better to have a sharp wit or a sharp knife and if we have time we’ll have a good hearty discussion about God verses Science.

But don’t worry, there’ll be heaps of educational stuff as well.  I’ll hold three but invaluable seminars.  ‘How To Help Daddy Fix His Car When He’s Not Looking’, ‘How Your Attitude Is Your Weapon; The Pre-teen Version’ and ‘How To Learn Numbers’.  I just need your credit card for that class.  At night, I’ll read them bedside stories like, ‘The Princess and the Non-committal Prince’, ‘Why Addiction Is Bad But Inevitable’ and ‘Sleep Is For Losers, Volumes 7 - 11’.

I’m ready to go.  Just let me know what time you want me there.

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

How Do I Make Him Go To School?

Dear Agony Aunt

My seven year old kid won’t go to school.  I’ve tried everything.  Pleading, negotiation, bribes, reverse psychology and force.  On the mornings I take time off work to drag him kicking and screaming to school, he gets there and runs away to the Nurse’s office citing a made up disease.  Other than tie him to chair, I don’t know what else to do.  I’m at my wits end.

Tie him to a chair?  That’s some good parenting there.  But why stop there?  Tie him to a chair, give him eleven years worth of Big Mac’s, a bed pan and wish him all the best...  Tie him to a chair?  It just goes to show you don't need to have brains or common sense to have children.

You’re son however, he sounds like a hoot.  And he’s already a lot smarter than you.  Let’s look at three important facts.  He doesn’t listen to you.  Tick.  He visits the hot nurse in sick bay.  Tick.  He’s creative enough to come up with never heard before ailments.  Tick.  Your son is an entrepreneurial genius of his time; a young mix of Donald Trump, Richard Branson and Dr Oz.

His gift needs to be nurtured, not stifled by unimportant things like English, math and social studies.  While all the other kids are agonising over bell curves, fumbling around with Bunsen burners and hating every single word of that idiot, Shakespeare, you’re youngin’ is just biding his time until he can bust out of there, start a chain of strip-joint convenience stores and become a multi-billionaire.

You’re the luckiest chick to have opened her legs.  If nurtured and supported, your son will buy you a duplex in Parramatta with his first million.  Then with his first billion, he might even buy you a motorised scooter.  You never know, it might even come with a full tank of petrol. 

However, if suppressed and restrained, you can forget your Parramatta dreams because all you’ll get will be paternity divorce papers.  These papers will be served by your son’s busty second wife, Brandy-Ann who’ll you’ll later find out - via your son’s memoirs - she does indeed tie him to chair.  But that’s for completely different reasons.

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

Should I have corrected him?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

I was in a car accident and survived with agonising whiplash.  But what distressed me more was the policeman’s final report of the incident.  The report says I was in the right but it was littered with so many spelling and grammatical errors, the sentence structure made me sound like I was drunk.  However, fearing he’d arrest me for ‘obstruction of justice’ I signed the statement without saying anything.  Should I have corrected him?

I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but, I think you’re my soul mate.  I had exactly the same experience.  This is an excerpt from my latest police statement as presented to the Magistrate.  The author of this sparkling document was Senior Constable Perry McWhirter.

“…It took twelve minutes for the subject to accept the power pole on the corner of Pitt and

Market Street wasn’t her next husband.  After I demanded she stop kissing the pole, she loudly commented on my above average weight and accused me of being the son of an unmarried mother.  At this time, I advised her that I was going to handcuff and restrain her.  She responded by saying she wanted to ‘see the cash upfront’ because it was unlikely I was in a financial position to afford it...’

Now, this makes me sound like I was drunk doesn’t it?  I feel your pain. 

So, the next day, I confronted Constable Perry and demanded he retract it.  He must’ve misunderstood and started humping a power pole.  I said that I wanted him to retract it, not re-enact it.  He told me he was not going to change his statement and that I needed to remember that he was a Policeman.  He said ‘Policemen are like drunk spinsters at a B&S ball, we’re ugly, we do a lot of shouting and you’ll always regret running into us the previous night’.

So after my painful ‘run in’ with Constable Perry, all I can say to you is that you need to get a grip.  You did the right thing to shut your gob.  After all, we’re only talking about a concrete, water tight, iron clad police statement.  It’s not something important, say, like a blog.

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

Should I tell my friends I've won Lotto?

Hi Angry Agony Aunt

I’ve just won First Division in Lotto.  Should I tell my friends?

Ra-rah-rah Rich

Dear Richie Rich

Let me start off by saying you’re the best looking reader I’ve ever had.  However, your looks pale in to insignificance when it comes to your brains and brawn.  I hope I’m not stating the obvious when I say that you’re a rare specimen.  When it comes to having a balance of good looks, good personality and good fortune, you’re right up there with your Peter Andre.  So, now that’s out of the way, let me give you a guiding hand and I’ll do my best to give you the best advice possible.

Look, you’re a total jerk.  You’re a jerk with or without money.  I’m guessing the ‘friends’ you talk about are probably a few old high school frenemies, a few ex-boyfriends and a lot of co-workers that really can’t stand you microwaving your curry lunch in the office.

These are the same people that never have and never will invite you to workplace farewell party, unless of course, it’s yours.  This is where they’ll spare no expense to ensure your building security pass is returned and destroyed.  Or to steal a phrase - until the security pass is ‘buried and cremated’.

But unfortunately for you, it’s too late.  They already know.  They got your subtle hints.  Their first clue was when you employed The Wiggles to record your voicemail singing ‘I’m in the money’.  The second was on casual Friday when you wore that dress made of hundred dollar notes.  The last clue is that big novelty cheque you got framed and hung above your desk.  You really are a jerk.

But believe it or not, you’re co-workers are actually quite happy for you.  This is their time to shine.  I heard a couple of them on the blower to Nigeria interviewing a few spam agents.  Shortly, you'll be receiving an email from Amadi telling you that he needs to offload twenty billion dollars and just needs your bank account to do so.  And believe me, it’s in your best interests to tell him.  This is the quickest way to turn your small win into a big billion dollar win.  Boy, you're on a roll.  Good luck to you.  He, he.

 

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

What font should I use?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

I’m trying to write a novel but can’t decide on a font. My problem is that I can't start to write until I find a font I like.  What should I do?  

Wow.  Your problems are huge.  How you’ve managed to stay upright this long and haven’t topped yourself is truly a miracle.  And not one of those ‘oh, my baby is a miracle’ miracles.  I’m talking about a real stumper that not even the Pope can explain.  But I’ll give it a go.  With or without my Pastoral Staff.

Here’s a fun fact for you.  Did you know the first ever font invented was Wingdings?  You didn’t know that?  True.  But back in the day, cavemen didn’t have Apple Mac’s and it took them forever to carve out a sentence.  Can you imagine how long it’d take to write out - Buffalo, spear, bird, bird, spear, lizard, spear, crescent moon, fish, arrow head, tree, arrow head just to spell out ‘Macca was here’.  I’m guessing at least three hibernation seasons.

Then after a period of time, pictures where replaced with letters.  But if you’re Chinese, pictures were replaced with a random smatter of ‘slashes’.  Ironically, these slashes actually look like things - like houses, stick men hugging each other and office buildings.  So really, the Chinese written word hasn’t evolved that much.

And then there’s the Germans.  Don’t get me started on the Germans.  With their umlaut’s, eszett’s and lack of dental fricatives.  Those German’s are always trying to show off.  But I must say that probably the most interesting language in the world is that of those crazy residents of Lesbos.  They speak Lesbian.  And you can bet that come class time, those crazy Lesbos teenage boys turn up on time, sit up straight and ask for homework. 

I haven’t researched the Lesbian font but I’m guessing you’re downloading it now for your novel writing.  You're a dirty bastard.

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

Should I return the book?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

I bought my friend a book direct from a publisher and after a long process of them ‘losing’ the delivery, I ended up with two books.  Should I send the other one back?

Life is nothing but karma points and a points system more confusing than the Westminster preferential voting system.  It can only be explained by a ven diagram, powerpoint presentation and someone from Generation X.

For example, setting off a false school fire alarm is negative ten, negative fifteen if you do it on test day and negative twenty-five if you do it on a hot day on a test day.  But if the Principal sets the alarm off just at that crucial moment before Andrew Rosetti is about to tell you he likes you, the stupid Principal actually gets positive three points for doing it as a ‘drill’.

Karma also has a long list of rules and regulations more ambiguous and contradictory than the Bible.  You get three points for telling your partner their bum does look big but the ensuing argument will in fact see you end up negative seven.  Smacking your child in a supermarket, negative one - smacking someone else’s child, negative twenty.  Go figure.

So, with all these confusing cosmic positives and negatives karma tallies silently ticking away, it’s really hard to know where you’re at in life.  All I can say is that if you’ve slept with your best friend’s boyfriend, told a child there’s no Santa or posted a significantly younger photo of yourself on an internet dating web site, I insist - no, I beg of you to return the book.  Send it by courier and with a heartfelt, handwritten thank you note.  And if you’re really points poor, enclose another cheque for good measure.  Unfortunately, you still won’t be in the black, but at least you’re only a couple of hours of community service away from turning your life around.  And it all starts with that book.

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

Am I being a Bridezilla?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

My fiancé and I are struggling with our guest list which is already 12 people over budget.  A number of our guests have partners we’ve never met.  We’re okay with long term relationships however there are a few that have only been dating a year.  Do we have to invite them?  I really don't want to pay $150 ahead for someone I’ve never met, nor do I want them in our pictures.  Am I being a Bridezilla?

Regards

Plus one quandary

Dear Plus one

Yes, you’re being a Bridezilla.  I mean, passively aggressively abusing the bonbonniere lady?  She’s eighty-five years old and she’s making this stuff by hand.  Think about it.  Your daily emails actually slow her down, not speed her up.  And that poor florist - she can’t change the tulip season - so stop asking.  And while you’re at it, tell your bridesmaids to stop writing to me.  I don’t have enough answers to their questions and I’m not qualified to prescribe Prozac.  And no, I don’t recommend they crush Prozac into your weight loss tea. 

What Bridesmaids keep forgetting is that only have two jobs.  One.  To paint on a wide and permanent smile on their face and look truly happy for you.  Especially anywhere in the vicinity of a camera.  Two.  At no moment during the day are they to be better looking than you.  Not even for a second.  Two jobs, that’s it.  Easy as.  And honestly, it's not unreasonable for you to ask them to pash a teenager a couple of days before the big day.  Where else are they going to get a good case of ache from?

However, when it comes to your guest list, I must confess, you’re rather calm about the whole thing.  If it was me, I’d be having a conniption about having booty call girlfriends at my wedding.   I mean, they’ll be there in their short skirts and fascinators eating your salmon canapé's and drinking your middle shelf champagne.  They’ll be swapping their T-bone for the fish and getting so sloshed all men in suits will look available, including the groom.

My advice to you is to be ruthless and cruel.  You know how to do that don’t you?  So, explain to your audience, oh sorry, your guests, they have a choice.  Sure, they’re welcome to bring a guest, however both of them will unfortunately be subject to a three drink maximum.  So sure, bring a 'friend'.  However, if they decide to come alone, they’ll be welcomed with an unlimited bar.  You’ll be surprised as to how ruthless and cruel your friends are as well.

Failing that, set a dress code where everyone dresses as a waiter.  Come bill time, the Venue Manager won't have a leg to stand on.

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com

Am I Arthur or Martha?

Dear Angry Agony Aunt,

I don’t know whether I’m Arthur or Martha.  Can you help me out?

Knowing your gender is a tricky business.  One minute you’re mowing the lawn and waxing your Holden but end up waxing your bits and crying when watching ‘Ghost’.  Boy, wasn’t that a confusing movie?  One minute Whoopi’s playing Whoopi, then she’s playing Patrick Swayze, touches up Demi Moore then turns back to being Whoopi.  That’s an Arthur/Martha is a real confusing and creepy way.  But not as confusing as Victor/Victoria - a woman, dressing as a man, dressing as a female impersonator.  The only way I can explain this to regular people, is that Victor is a superfluous middle man.  Much like literary agents.

But back to you.  The easy way to find out if you’re an Arthur or a Martha is to ask someone.  But it doesn’t sound like you’ve got any friends or co-workers that actively talk to you, so we’re going to have to go to Plan B.  I must confess, Plan B is simple but painful.  So, like all of my ex-boyfriends, all care is taken but no responsibility is accepted.

Okay.  Go to a day care centre and sneak into the kids sick bay.  Sit on the floor, colour in if you like but make sure you breathe in that germy goodness.  Breathe in, breathe out.  Breathe in, breathe out.  But whatever you do, don’t get within smacking distance of the kids.  The aim of Plan B is to only get a tiny, tiny, little cold.  This is because if you have an itsy bitsy tiny little cold and find yourself heavily complaining about it, you know you’re a man.

However, if you’re unable to get into a childcare centre, for your obvious anti-social behaviour, visit a ladies toilet area.  If the ladies scream, you’ve just found out you’re a man.  That, or a very, very, very ugly woman.

Send your questions to me - angryauntis@gmail.com