Hope Springs Eternal (and is a dish best served in anger)

Recently, last Friday, around lunch time, an associate of mine sent an email. A flawless email.

This was startling. Revolutionary. Here was the perfect email. I stared, in wonder, at the symmetry. The flawless execution. The profound complexity in its simple message.

Here was a way to tell everybody everything. And, you didn't have to tell anybody anything.

It was a memo with universal implications.

It addressed her sincere wishes, and her most vile curses, in three simple syllables. Hope, and despair, love and hate. It was a perfect circle in a square world.

"I hope you sprain your ankle, you sanctimonious son of a b#@*h, Martin!"

"Hope you get a pleasant night sleep, and have peaceful dreams, Jan."

"Hope you suffer from male pattern baldness you egotistical freak."

"I hope your dinner is the best you have ever eaten, and you still have room for dessert."

I was green with envy, sick with jealousy. Why didn't I think of that? What muse brought her this jewel of memorandum magic? Why not me?!??!!!

I was so angry I fired off an email.

"I hope you, too." It said.

She told me, "it doesn't work that way." And it was her device, so she would know.

I am looking into copyright laws, to find out when her rules will expire, and then I will load up the email cannon, and fire off a salvo of communication the likes of which have never before been seen.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you.