"Progress from Love Guru to Sex Magnet." That was the title of an email in my spam folder today.
With my finger hovering over the delete key, I reflected for a moment. A love guru? It seems to me a person could be worse. In fact, I don't think I'd really MIND being a love guru, you know? That would make me a master of love, or an expert in all things lovely, perhaps; it sounds quite pleasant. But a sex magnet? Well, I wouldn't call that "progress," would you? I've spent about 50 years or so of my life making sure that's the LAST thing I was. Okay, admittedly, there were a few years along the way where being a sex magnet seemed appealing, but that pretty much just got me married and pregnant, and not necessarily in that order either. Besides, I'm pretty sure a bona fide sex magnet wouldn't get very much quilting done, don't you agree?
So I pressed the delete key. "Are you sure you want to permanently delete this message?" my computer asked me. "Yes, yes, yes," I muttered, as I pressed down on the key again, "I'm VERY sure."
Now I'm watching my spam folder for an email that promises to turn an ordinary, middle-aged woman into a Looooove Guru. If you get one, forward it to me, okay?