Some days I feel like my Gmail’s spam folder deserves a big hug and a chaste kiss. Like a chivalrous Knight Of The Round Table, it ceaselessly defends and protects me from ridiculous annoyances on a daily basis. It never takes a holiday, it never goes on vacation to the Bahamas, leaving me to fend for myself.
No. It is unyielding in its efforts to slay all of the Spam Dragons who would dare to breach the sanctity of my personal fortress.
And for that, I am eternally grateful.
As a show of appreciation to my spam folder — and spam folders everywhere — here is but a glimpse of what mine battles every day:
They never look like their pictures. Take my word for it. You might think you’re getting a hot, lonely, undersexed supermodel until a hosebeast with a face full of hairy warts shows up on your doorstep with a raggedy suitcase, a bowl of borscht, and a toothless smile.
Why on earth…? The last (and only) time I dated a Christian, his whole church-going family lovingly referred to me as “that heathen.” To my face. It probably didn’t help that I wore a hex bag around my neck and performed a spirited voodoo incantation right before I used my teeth to rip the head off of the chicken I intended to roast for dinner.
Just kidding. I’m not a voodoo-ist. I’m Pagan. The store-bought chicken was already headless.
I don’t know what they’re waiting around for at the loft condo by Coors Field, but the invitation sounds kinda rapey. My purity is sure to remain intact, thanks to my knight in cyber armor always looking out for me.
He acts as the bouncer at my personal club, the Lancelot to my Guenièvre, the Alistair to my Hero of Ferelden. Spam might be flung at me from every conceivable direction but he is constantly there, battling those unwanted advances from faraway armies that vie for my attention on a daily basis.
I can offer only this in return: Thank you, Spam Folder, for always having my back.