Size Matters

I am 5 foot 7 inches on a good day. I wear size 8 shoes and my hands are pretty small. I am Jewish. But has every spammer in the world been discussing my shortcomings? Have they been getting into bed with me at night? Is there a candid camera hidden in the walls? How else can you explain the constant reminders to me that my private parts need enlarging?

It was bad enough when the information as to the sure fire ways to a bigger and better me first started getting through on the computer. I could laugh it off and believe that it was random selection and not focused attention. But when the onslaught continues on a daily basis and the message is repeated that I am less of a man that I can and should be, well I just don't know. Can 10,000 people, all delivering the same message,be mistaken? Am I really in need of expanding my horizons when it comes to expanding myself? Should I consider taking membership in the member club?

Recently, I was in my doctor's office (Frank, whom I sure you remember from some of my posts about other not so private matters). While I was waiting to be poked and prodded (don't get any ideas), I read an article that Frank had written about whether enlargement procedures were really effective. The conclusion, happily, was that these procedures are not worth the effort. I say happily, because if the issue ever 'arises' I can point to the article as proof positive that what you see is all that you are ever going to get.

The onslaught is endless. While filters and blockers and whatever other techniques are utilized to direct the mail, the messages keep coming. While almost all of it ends up in my spam folder, the sheer volume of what must be placed on the internet is staggering. There must only be a few men in the world fully confident in their manhood judging by the constant reminders I receive. How many men do you think really get these notices and say to themselves, I wonder why I didn't think of that sooner?

I don't mean to be grotesque (don't go there). I am just saying that I wish there were as many notices to me on how to cure my putting woes as there are on how to cure my putter. If I am having difficulty as I always seem to veer off to the left, I would like them to be talking about ways to straighten out my swing, and not how to straighten me out. I would love to receive an onslaught of PG rated mail that was directed at improving myself instead of improving myself. I want to be getting notices about applying for memberships in golf clubs and not about membership to improve my club.

I think I could go on forever with comments that amuse me, if no one else. But the point is that these notices have long since stopped being funny. After a while they became annoying and have since moved many more levels up the food chain of disgust. I am tired of being reminded of my inadequacies and I want them to stop. I only wish there was a way of getting the home e-mail address of every person in every business who tells me every day that I am not a real man. I would be happy to enter into a philosophical discourse with each one of them on the issue. Short and pointed would have a very different meaning on that day

But until that day comes to pass, I must suffer the slings and arrows reminding me of what I am missing. With age, it seems like our feet swell a little and our shoe size creeps up. If this continues, by the time I am 90 I can proudly announce I am wearing size 11 shoes. When that day arrives, maybe the notices will stop.