Spam I Am

For whatever reason, today I found myself fantasizing about responding to the gobs of spam I get. It was a good way to pass the time while trying to kick a headache. These are all real subject lines from e-mail in my spam folder.

So I didn't really respond to any, but it was a good cathartic exercise just to pretend.
B.

Get a Risk-free CD to get started!
I prefer the risky CD. Thank you.

Need money for college?
Need money to buy better demographic data?

Welcome to the good life
Thank you. Good to be here.

Save 3 dollars on earth friendly cat litter
First, please hyphenate your compound modifier. Second, I find it hard to be concerned about the earth when it comes to cat litter. I’m more concerned about my gag reflex and the ghastly smell. I promise to recycle, buy the right light bulbs, and compost, but I like my cat poop buried in chemical compounds toxic enough to make me forget that animals eliminate in my house several times a day.

I found you a new job
That was so sweet of you.

Hello
Howdy.

Best-value packages for satellite TV
No thank you. I’m trying to avoid the whole mind-as -“savage torpor”-thing, as Wordsworth or Blake or Coleridge said. I’d probably remember which one if I hadn’t watched so much TV in college.

Get a free child safety ID kit from Gerber
Here’s a free marketing tip: Sending an e-mail that has “free child” anywhere in the subject line to a tired middle-aged mom will land you in the spam folder quicker than you can say “mini-van.”

Make your saxual dreams come true
It is so freakishly bizarre that you know about my tryst-with-a-bad-speller fantasy.

YOU HVE WON!
I HV???

Dual Cop Coffeemaker for Two Never Tasted So Good
We’re supposed to taste the coffeemaker??

COMPLIMENTS!!!
REGARDS!!

What I've learned during the first 17 years that might help me make it through the next 17 or so

Karl and I celebrated 17 years together on April 1. Here are my thoughts on what I've learned so far.

Joint property is a myth. His books are his and must not be dog-eared or held open so widely that “the spine might break.” My French fries are mine. If you want some, order your own.

Personal hygiene practices were not meant to be shared. We do not use the bathroom together or in front of each other. I know couples who do. I do not understand it. Sustaining a romance over the long haul requires a little mystery.

Housekeeping duties WERE meant to be shared. We’ve come a long way since our famous battle of wills over the dishes some 15 years ago, which ended in throwing out our entire stock and buying new ones after maggots invaded. Long story. We do better now.

Learn to be a good passenger. If you can’t, at least learn to be direct in your nagging. Karl’s “GOOD GOD B!” comes and goes quickly, and then it’s over. When I bury my nagging in sarcasm, it always leads to an argument: “Is there a reason you’re not braking until you’re within two inches of that bumper? Are you, like, testing them to see if they’ll work in the event we need to go from 60 to 0 in 2 seconds?”

Cook together. It took us many years to get to this one, but it’s done wonders.

You don’t have to share every interest, but the interests you share should at least complement each other. My evenings spent kickboxing in the living room did not go well with his evenings practicing lectio divina.

Make room for conversations that have nothing to do with the children. Our late nights spent discussing the merits of a movie or book remind us that we were once people who could think intensely about things that had nothing to do with how to manage this week’s soccer practices or what we should plan for the next birthday party.