This summer, my 15-year-old son asked me to help him download an e-mail attachment. When we finished, he started checking his other messages. All of a sudden, there was DeeDee, a voluptuous vixen in a plunging red tank top and Daisy . . .
This summer, my 15-year-old son asked me to help him download an e-mail attachment. When we finished, he started checking his other messages. All of a sudden, there was DeeDee, a voluptuous vixen in a plunging red tank top and Daisy Duke shorts, smiling sheepishly from the computer screen.

I stared at her for a moment, then at my son. He blanched and raised his hands as if he were in a stickup. "I swear! I don't even know the woman!" he said, in Clintonesque denial.

There was a tense second or two, until I remembered that the same thing had happened to me countless times when I was innocently checking my e-mail.

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