Man, I get such a kick out of the subject titles for the emails that end up in my Junk file. I take a peek in the ol’ Junk file about once a month, and –at that regulated, and therefore not incredibly annoying frequency— it’s much easier to find them hilarious.
Most of them think I’m a man, and want to help me be more of one… not entirely flattering, but at least they’re trying to be helpful, right? Who knows, maybe some men actually look forward to a black-&-white accusation of their inadequecy, so long as it’s coupled with an array of pharmeceutical fixer-uppers. I don’t think I’ve actually met any of these hypothetical men yet, but… well, there must be some out there.
Then there are those emails which obviously suppose that I am completely unaware of correct usage for the English language. Or that I don’t care whether words are misspelled. Or that dollar signs and triple XXXs will distract me from the most bizarrely constructed sentences ever.
Oh, and the ones with watches! I must seem like someone who really needs 35 GENUINE Rolex watches.
I particularly like the names of my unknown communicants. Part royalty, part dead celebrities, lots of very formal Mrs. this and Mr. that… always with two names! Kind of makes me feel I’m ready to board a time machine for a garden party with the offspring of kings and painters! “Why yes, Mrs. Anna Van Gogh, I’d be delighted to meet your son, Vsdanys VerGuggenheim. Charmed, I’m sure!”
But today… today I received a little missive in my Junk file that topped all the rest. “Dear Beloved!” it called to me, singing high above the other lines of gibberish. “Dear Beloved!”
Oh, I almost wished I could open it to see the rest! There could be anything in that email– these are words of adoration and love from a complete stranger…
…and it makes me wonder: If there really are sweet old laides who mail their life savings to Namibian Princes (and yes, there really are), how many might stop to open it, and –depending on what’s inside– how many might be somehow taken in by an anonymous proclamation of ardor? How many of us might ignore the ancient courtesy of it, seeing nothing but a potential for romance… of some kind or another?
We are such a straightforward, no nonsense bunch these days, with our “Relationship-Defining-Talks”…. is this the beginning of some genius new tactic? In-boxes overflowing with “To the Adored!” and “Stars of my Heart!” and “Exclamation points of love!!!” ?
All I know for certain is that this particular phrase, “Dear Beloved!” would draw my own eyes and curiosity, on a billboard or a post-it note. Just FYI.