Whatever would I do without the daily infusion of inspirational messages plastered across pictures of kittens and rainbows? How would I know about the latest poorly formatted injustice without you? Your communications are a virtual cornucopia of data mine-able email addresses ripe for the picking.
Oh the years of bad luck I’ve stacked up because of you. And heaps of burning coals must be falling from my head because I’ve not forwarded your last message from heaven that came via your second cousin’s aunt’s hairdresser’s poodle groomer. How will the women in my life know they’re amazing if I don’t send this heap of sparkling gifs hurtling at them through cyberspace?
The Comic Sans all caps solution for all our government ills sits languishing in my trash bin. Along with the thoughtful card for me that didn’t actually attach in your forward.
But I see that I’m on the clock once again. I have 20 minutes to tell 10 friends/family that I love them (including you) because I’m again being tested.
Will the delivered blessing help with the cramp in my scrolling finger? Because that would really help me out right now.
ETA: If you are reading this, this is not you.