I had been managing to avoid my sweet but nosy daughter’s interest in my new Internet life for a couple of weeks; but I knew my luck couldn’t hold.  Therefore, it came as no surprise when I found a message from her in my email box.

          To:  Redhot@burningluv.com

     Subject:   Your Behavior

     Message:  Well mother, you left me no alternative but to

               Contact you by email so I will make this short.

               Your behavior in your Adult Education Computer

               Class is embarrassing me.  Email IA@help.com

               immediately.  This is for your own good.

     After I quit laughing I wrote her back.

          To:  Poedkid@spoilsport.com

     Subject:  Your Red Face

Message:  Fat chance, Dear.  I’m having a ball surfing the             net and have no intention of stopping or

          contacting AI.  Why are you

                Embarrassed and how did you find out my email

                Address?

     I clicked the send button but my kid’s reply was back almost before my hand dropped.

     “Why am I embarrassed?  My mom’s logon name is ‘Redhot’.  Call me overly sensitive; but this embarrasses me.  As for your email address, that wasn’t hard.  Every Internet bathroom wall across the cosmos has ‘for a good time in cyberspace, email Redhot@burningluv.com’ on it.  Finally, I said contact IA which stands for Internet Anonymous; not AI which stands for artificial intelligence… as rare a commodity as natural intelligence is in your case.”

     The brat’s sarcasm was making me angry; but before I could respond another message in my email box caught my eye.  It was from my dear friend, Mr. Bondage.

     “Yo Red, your kid sent me a email and called me a bunch of dirty names like I ain’t never been called before…not even by biker babes.  I admire her way with words but what did she mean when she told me to peddle my leather goods on down the net or else?”

     This time the kid had gone too far…Imagine threatening a sweetheart like Mr. Bondage.  My fingers fairly flew across the keyboard as I emailed my beautiful but insufferable daughter.

     “How dare you threaten my friends?  Face facts, Dear.  I have a cyberspace life and there is nothing you can do about it.  Haha! Love, Mom”

     Almost like the answer had been prepared, my daughter’s reply flashed upon my screen.

     “Don’t underestimate me, Mom.  I have friends in high places and can access programs you haven’t discovered yet.”

     “I smiled as I clicked the reply button:  “Nice try, Dear; but no cigar.  Play nice with your high friends and stay out of my email block.”

     That problem neatly handled I turned to more enjoyable email pursuits.

          To:     Mr.Bondage@perverts.com

     Subject: Your Leather Goods

     Message: Hey, Big Boy…

     Suddenly my screen went blank!  Was it possible my rotten kid could make good her threats?  Of course not!  I smiled in relief as words began to form on the screen…but the smile froze as I read the message there:

     (Hello!  We are Surfguard; a watchdog program initiated by your daughter to deny you access to forbidden web sites, inappropriate email addresses and to generally rain on your parade.  Have a nice day in cyberspace!)

This couldn’t be happening to me.  My fingers flew across the keyboard:

          To:     Poedkid@spoilsport.com

       Subject: Your Doom

  Message:      You miserable brat!  When I get my hands on you…

                (We are sorry, but Surfguard considers your language and message to your sweet daughter inappropriate behavior.  Try again and have a nice day in cyberspace.)

     This was a nightmare.  Tentatively, I tried again.

          To:     Mick@rollingstones.com

      Subject:

     (We are sorry; but Surfguard and your daughter feel that Internet contact with aging rock stars is not a wise activity at this time.  Try again and have a nice day in cyberspace.)

     I was beaten.  No more Internet, no more email and worse of all, no more Mr. Bondage.  Broken, I typed:

          To:     IA@help.com….

     (Hello, Surfguard says, “Now, you’re cooking, Toots!  Have a nice day in cyberspace.)

     Not today; but maybe tomorrow would be a nice day in cyberspace.  Maybe tomorrow I could research cyber assassins.

The End