By the time you read this, I will have responded to the 187 daily e-mails that I’ve received for as long as I’ve had an e-mail account. And all of these e-mails proclaim I am a winner. I’ve given up the fight and am claiming all of my prizes. I have tried to live a humble life, but can do so no longer. They said I am a guaranteed winner, so I’ll no doubt write to you next from the shores of a fabulous tropical island, dripping in diamonds while I sip frothy cocktails.
Here’s the plan: first, I’ll respond to all the guaranteed cash winning e-mails. That will net me an assured $756,434, and that’s just today’s mail.
Next, I’ll begin an itinerary that includes every trip that I have been guaranteed, every airline ticket, celebrity filled cruise and African safari. From a week’s worth of e-mails, I figure Peter and I can circumnavigate the globe about three times before we run out of gas, so to speak. And even then, the thousands of dollars in promised gas cards should help out a bit.
I will outfit myself in all of the free clothing, shoe and jewelry gift cards that have been promised me by the likes of Nieman Marcus, Tiffany & Co., Juicy Couture, Abercrombie & Fitch and Nine West. Every card promises a $500 shopping spree. I don’t know about you, but I love a designer that cares enough to just give their stuff away.
When Peter and I return home from our extensive travels, the latest in electronics will be waiting for us. Because of all the free cell phone offers I’ve received, Peter and I will be able to give cell phones to every deer and squirrel that lives in the woods surrounding us. We may have to give away any number of plasma televisions, as there are only so many rooms in our house, and these companies just won’t stop guaranteeing me a new television.
In fact, the Internet people care so much about me winning all of these treasures that they’ve made sure to contact me no less than an emphatic sixty-two times each, just to make sure that I’ve been given enough warning. It’s only when I receive that ominous ‘final notice’ that I give in and claim my prize. It’s like I’ve given them every opportunity to give the prize to someone else, but they really want me to have it.
I’m thinking of hiring a personal assistant just to write thank you notes for the flattering kindness I receive, every single day, via my sweet e-mail in-box.
I guess if I was a smart girl, I’d quit daydreaming and maybe adjust the spam settings on my e-mail account before I climb out of my designated spot in the Matrix into the cocoon of wealth.
And really, maybe I shouldn’t be so greedy. Give me your e-mail address, and I’ll share the wealth by forwarding them to you. After all, there’s always tomorrow’s batch of false hope. I’m happy to share.