“Dear Miss Biscuit,

Where the hell do you get off writing an advice column, anyway?“

-The Tragically Uninformed

Dear Tragically Uninformed,

First of all, let me apologize for your tiny brain capacity. I know it must be difficult for you to do everyday things like breathing, walking, or being remotely hip. You may have trouble telling the difference between café au lait and cappuccino, deciphering a flirty gesture, or matching your socks. As with many things, the first step is admitting you have a problem.

The second step is reading my new advice column. I’m willing to bet that I’m prettier, smarter, and getting laid more often than you are. There’s no need to be ashamed. Most people I meet suffer from similar deficiencies. The real sinners here are your friends and family, who let you walk around like that without saying anything to you about it. Have no fear, for the queen of tough love is here.

I won’t mince words, I won’t lie, and I won’t tell you that outfit looks great on you if it doesn’t. I’m not invested in your feelings, so I don’t care if you like what I have to say. Sometimes the truth hurts. Someone has to be willing to wield the shiny knife. Let me be that someone.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not out to make you cry. It’s possible I’ll get a tiny bit of satisfaction from it, but tears are not my primary goal. I’m here to be a beacon of hope in a world of failed relationships, misguided fashion choices, and disastrous social faux pas. I’m here to help you become a decent human being, not out of some kind of altruism on my part, but because I may have to interact with you in person one day and I’d rather not be offended by your complete lack of tact.

So when you get a clue, write in. Tell me about your failures in the departments of love, relationships, and etiquette, and I’ll try not to giggle incessantly as I respond.

C’mon, try it… because there may just be hope for you yet.

Kisses,
Miss Biscuit