It Looked Different on the Model - Laurie Notaro [67]
Since the advent of the combination of letters “FWD,” my mother has resurrected her quest to expose all hidden dangers in the world, large and small, lest they pop up at some unexpected time in the form of perhaps a cellphone charger and expose themselves as the instruments of death that they are.
Or, for that matter, as people named Karen.
So when my sister called me to warn of the dangers that lie within Women Named Karen, it was clear my mother had a direct connection to it.
And there it was when I checked my email: “FWD: FWD: FWD: FWD: FWD: PLEASE READ,” which in email code means “Forecasting World Destruction,” and the more times it’s repeated in the subject, the more times the world has the potential to be destroyed. It was a signal from my mother, flashing like a beacon in the middle of a dangerous and about to be decimated world sea.
Although my mother has never sent her kids any tips on life’s essentials, such as “There’s a thing called an egg and a sperm,” “Make sure to drink lots of milk to prevent bone loss,” “Boobs or kids: Pick one and go with it, because you can’t have both,” or “It’s too bad that you went to the doctor to see if you were turning albino, because we go gray everywhere, especially in parts where your colorist charges extra,” her call to nurture has never deviated from its chosen path.
As I soon as I opened the email, I was warned, “We received a call last week from the 809 area code. The woman left a message that said, ‘Hey, this is Karen. Sorry I missed you—get back to me quickly. I have something important to tell you.’ Then she repeated a phone number beginning with 809. We did not respond.”
To set the record straight, my mother did not receive a call from Karen, nor did anyone she knows, but whoever Karen called originally in 1998 typed up this Forecasting World Destruction email and sent it out into the abyss. It then took an Oregon Trail’s worth of wormholes and then a hop on string theory during its path of destiny to finally reach my mother, who then found it terrifying enough to spread even further after reading the first use of the word coupling “DO NOT,” which began the email.
Now, it turns out that if you were curious enough to call Karen back, you’d just opened up a world of hurt for yourself, which never would have happened if you had a mother like mine. Because if your mother had valued Karen’s phone call far and above, say, “No one ever tells you this, but when you turn forty, your uterus will stage a coup that you can only fight with Vicodin, so ask your doctor for it NOW,” you would have already known that Karen’s area code—“809, 284, AND 876”—is located in the Dominican Republic. Even if you just call and say, “Hi, Karen, this is Carol Notaro, and I know you don’t have an important message for me but I put you on my prayer chain anyway!” you will apparently be charged $2,425 per minute.
YES, YOU WILL, because your careless mother neglected to tell you that your local phone company will not get involved and will tell you that they are simply providing the billing, and, just like that, you are out $2,425 per minute. Isn’t that scary? Wouldn’t you trade a hug to have the equivalent of your mortgage payment back? Apparently fifteen people on my mother’s email “CC: Ponzi scheme” thought it was frightening enough to keep passing it on like an open herpes sore until it finally got to me. In fact, it is so alarming that the email itself pleads for the reader to send it on.
I mean, how many times have people teetered on the precipice of calling 809? Countless. Countless. In fact, there are people who have to stop themselves from doing it right now. And if you loved someone, you would have the same response my mother did (“Oh! That’s terrible! Animals!”) and immediately click the Forecasting