Well, before we get started with this week's questions, Narcissa wishes to thank all of you who wrote in to comment on the deep, serious structural problems faced by our country that Narcissa brought up in last week's column. Narcissa's readers know what's really important in this country: for Narcissa to appear well-coiffed, and last week's question--for those of you who might have been in a coma, it was, "Should I go with highlights or not, and, critically, the bangs issue: short, long, nonexistent?"--should not be eclipsed by the world's petty little problems. (The wars in Afghanistan and Iraq rage on, ever deadlier, healthcare legislation has been watered down almost to nothing and doesn't even cover abortion, and Jay Leno continues to show up on our televisions every night. So?) Narcissa also asked several co-workers and a homeless man for their opinions, but found their answers (really, how would one even go about sticking one's hair up one's ass?) unhelpful. Thank god for my Readers, who remain ever-fascinated with Narcissa.

Narcissa,

You're so pretty!

-- a random Reader, not Narcissa herself

An excellent observation, Reader, who is very much not Narcissa pretending to be someone else. (Why would Narcissa pretend to be anyone but who she so gloriously is?) While your question was not strictly speaking a question in any sense of the word, its cogency and urgency--its near-philosophical depth--caught Narcissa's attention. More people--everyone, actually--should point out just how pretty, and also how smart and what a snappy dresser Narcissa is.

No, I mean now. Right fucking now. Stop whatever you're doing and DO IT! DO IT!

Narcissa,

My husband left a month ago and all I do is cry. I've neglected my kids--his kids--because I can't stand how much they remind me of him. I haven't brushed my teeth or looked in the mirror since he walked out, and I'm not even sure I have any teeth left. I have no friends I can confide in, because we just moved to whatever sister-fucking state in the middle of the country this is a few months ago. What can I do to get myself back on track before I lose my kids and my life crumbles even farther?

-- Wrecked In a Rectangular State

Ah, Wrecked, it is truly difficult when a loved one leaves us, either through death or because he has taken up with some tramp from Accounting who wears spandex across her gigantic ass and has had what, like 43 plastic surgeries so her vagina's now just under her collagen-filled chin and slightly above her lopsided fake boobs. You will be tempted to blame yourself, to wonder where you went wrong. Nowhere! is where you went wrong, Rect; you do not go wrong, everyone else goes wrong. "Before you lose his kids?" Ha! Give his kids up for adoption, but not before you extract whatever transplantable organs you think you might be able to sell on Ebay, and find yourself someone who'll buy you new dental work and tell you constantly how awesome you are. Not as awesome as Narcissa, but quite awesome, just because you reflect Narcissa's awesomeness. In your own--not inferior, just slightly-lessferior--way.

Now, tell Narcissa how awesome she is. All of you. And mean it. I'll know if you don't. Now! Do it now!

Dear Narcissa,

Before I start, please just let me tell you how beautiful and almost godlike you are. (That's the most important thing.) (And you didn't rewrite my letter at all to add that first sentence, or the one before this one or this one.) When I started at my job, I thought people would be happy for my achievements, but they're totally NOT! I've been working as hard as I can here, and I'm making a little progress--I even won a big award, which, I have to admit, I don't deserve yet, though I'm trying to earn it, and it's not like I awarded it to myself, for god's sake--but everyone expects me to fix everything that was wrong before I even got here--immediately. Plus they call me names. These people are nuts. And if I screw up, they're like hyenas; they love it, even if my screwing up hurts them too. HELP!

-- Oh, Barry!

Oh, Barry!, Narcissa fails to understand how your letter affects her in any way (and failing to understand makes me feel bad, makes me question how godlike I am--do you see what you've done here, Barry? I hate you), except for the first three sentences, which Narcissa absolutely did not write. (They're the best part of your letter, though.) How does your letter help Narcissa feel better about herself? Narcissa doesn't see it, and Narcissa sees everything about herself. Despite this failing, and how much I hate you for it, Narcissa will help you though this, because I'm just generous like that. My suggestion to you, Oh, Barry! is to try, from now on, being more Narcissa-forward in your work. Ask yourself: would Narcissa approve of this move? Will this help or hurt Narcissa? Have I written Narcissa today to tell her how lovely she is in every way? If you do not, Narcissa will have a giant screaming hissy fit and come down to your work armed with a large handgun and call you a Nazi. Or maybe a socialist. Narcissa has done it before.

Narcissa,

Why do you refer to yourself in the third person?

--Linguistically Curious

The third person is Narcissa's favorite person. When there are three people, that's one more person to worship Narcissa's awesomeness. It's like an awesomeness ménage a trois, with Narcissa's big giant rod of awesomeness pounding your steaming awesomeness-holes in rotation. (Narcissa might have been watching a little porn earlier.) (And might be a little bi-curious.) (Were Narcissa to go gay, she would be dyke-ariffic. Or possibly lesbotastic.) Also, if Narcissa were to say, "I am awesome," well, you might not believe it--as hard as that might be to comprehend--but when Narcissa says, "Narcissa is awesome," you know it to be objectively true. Because Narcissa says so.

Narcissa will have written a whole new column next week, Readers. In the meantime, bear up: Narcissa will try to hurry, as she knows how her column is the highlight of your weeks--indeed, your otherwise meaningless lives--and Narcissa is merciful. Until then, try to simply remain catatonic or perhaps under the influence of alcohol or some strong psychotropic drugs. And let Narcisssa know how wonderful she is; surprisingly, she never tires of your telling her so.