| Sideways Look - Spam Enlargement - Spring 09 |
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| Written by Giulia Mauro | |
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Giulia wonders if the content of her spam email is trying to tell her something. Stalwart Rob and I are just back from being away for the weekend. It was an opportunity to leave behind our Latte Yuppie Lifestyle and enjoy a few days out of the city, off the computer, outside the reach of 24-hour-a-day communications, and away from the siren song of urban hedonism. Except for the bit where I text messaged Stalwart Rob to complain that the coffee shop was taking too long to make my cappuccino, we did pretty well, I think. Now that we're back and suckling once more from the digital teat, I'm enduring what the CIA calls "blowback." Every decision has a consequence, and the consequence of not checking my email for 4 days is 144 spam messages offering me products to help enlarge my penis. That seems like rather a lot, considering I have no penis at all. That's because I'm a woman, by the way. Not because I had some sort of painful industrial accident. In case you were wondering. A deluge of advertisements designed to sell me wiener improvements is not in any way unusual. I have observed, over a considerable number of years hopelessly devoted to my email, that I get a disproportionate number of penis enlargement spam messages. For a few months, I ran an informal survey around the office, and I was the clear winner in penis pitches. Among women and men. Which makes me wonder. There is always the possibility that it is a fluke. That it is a technological impossibility that someone has decided I don't get offers for free online degrees or 0% financing, but dozens and dozens of offers to enlarge my penis. Or maybe it's as simple as I only visit websites and sign up for newsletters that are frequented by (other?) people with small weenies. But maybe there is actually an act of will behind it. Maybe there is something about me that suggests a poorly-endowed man and some business is acting on it. My name has a hint of the ethnic about it, that might be it. Although I can't see that my name has a hint of small-penised ethnic. I can't imagine anybody meeting an Italian man, even one named Giulia, and thinking, "I'll bet his winky is inadequate for the purpose." Ever. My sense of self is sturdy enough to handle this, which is fortunate. I have never sat down and wondered if maybe the universe is trying to tell me that I need a penis (albeit a small one). It's just one of those little things (ha!) that gives life its attractive Technicolour glow. If Stalwart Rob starts getting emails offering him breast enlargements, though, I may decide to worry. Comments (0)
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