I love my mother. She’s truly, truly an all-time great mom. Never gave a lick about sports, but attended all of my little league baseball games and high school and college cross country meets. Wasn’t overly interested in the workings of Mahopac High School, but sat and listened as I read her each and every article I wrote for The Chieftain, the school’s paper. Mom is loving, nurturing, hard-working, disciplined, caring. Best of all, she’s probably the most selfless person I’ve ever met. Always asks about the other person first. Always.
That said, my mom suffers from a very serious condition that needs to be fixed: Forward-itis.
Joan Susan Pearlman, my beloved mother, can’t stop herself from forwarding me lame e-mails (this is the all-time classic). She sees something she perceives to be funny, attaches the link to an e-mail and sends it to me. I get it and reply, “Mom, that is so not funny—please stop forwarding me this liquid crap.” Then, without fail, a week later she sends me more e-mail (Often with a note that reads, “I know you don’t like forwards, but this one is REALLY good!!!!). Inevitably, it’ll be a lame George W. Bush cartoon. Or a half-baked Chanukah video by some Sandler wanna-be. Or a list along the lines of, YOU KNOW YOU HAVE GENITAL WARTS WHEN …
I can’t stand it. She’s a forwarding machine. Once, I thought my mom’s worst trait was her jarring inability to speak on the phone without accidentally hanging up midway through a conversation. But that’s nothing compared to the endless stream of shit forwards. So, please, dear mother, stop. I … am …. drowning … under … the … ugh … weight … of … forwards … please … help … gasp.
Here, for your entertainment, are links my mom has forwarded me over the past year. (Admittedly, the first one is sorta cool):
• Link 1
• Link 2
• Link 3
• Link 4
• Link 5
• LINK 6
