I try not to remember George W. Bush. But I do remember that he liked to call himself “The Decider.”
I have my own “Decider”. It’s my spam filter.
I’m not talking about my Blog spam filter. That filter has yet to make a mistake. Why just today, it blocked:
“This is pointless, why am I even reading it and not enjoying glutenfri gulrotkake? I should learn to spend my time better.”
I looked it up immediately, and it appears to be from someone who likes carrot cake a lot better than they like my husband. This could be my ex-sister-in-law. But I think it’s probably spam.
No, I am referring to my spam filter at the office.
It decides what I should read. It is a devious Decider.
One day it decides that I should not see the letter from our worker’s comp insurer. But a letter from an online popcorn vendor is okay.
The Decider has determined that the legislative updates that I pay for are not worth my time. (Umm, it’s correct, but that’s besides the point.)
And The Decider keeps sending me notices of job openings. In Michigan. And even though I slept through most of “2001-A Space Odyssey”, I know that it isn’t good when your computer wants you to apply for another job.
The Decider enjoys insulting me.
I’m the controller of a small, but well-known business. So The Decider has assumed that I am a man.
The Decider has decided that I must be in need of Viagra. It forwards all the emails it can find that start, “Dear Nancy”, and then recommends penis boosters. Of course, any man named Nancy probably needs some medicinal encouragement, so The Decider might think it is being sensitive. I suspect that The Decider has written some of these emails itself.
On Friday, The Decider tipped its hand. It revealed to me a disconcerting but unavoidable clue: The Decider has been reading my Blog!
Under the guise of “Give yourself the edge in your business deals” – The Decider sent me this:
The Decider has seen my Flexees drawing. (“Mentionables“). It’s offering me the executive version!
“For professional men on the go.”
And speaking of “on the go” – why doesn’t the men’s version have little hooks and eyes in the crotch (like my ‘shapewear’ does)? Now that’s a men’s room yoga position I would like to see!