Dave Barry

Several months ago my wife, a newspaper sportswriter, forwarded to me an e-mail message she’d received from a male reader, who informed her that because she is a woman, she had no business writing about sports. My wife gets these all the time from men who — trust me — do not know half as much about sports as my wife does.

I read the e-mail, hit “Reply” and dashed off a response, intended for my wife, consisting of a one-word description of the reader, comparing him to a common bodily orifice. Then I clicked “Send.” Then, approximately one millionth of a second later, I realized I had actually sent the reply, from my personal e-mail address, to Mr. Orifice. Oops.

If I had read “Send,” this would not have happened. I would have checked the address one last time, and I would have caught the error, and Mr. Orifice would never have received that e-mail from me. Although in the unlikely event that he is a reader of The New York Times Book Review, I want to state here, for the record: Sir, you are exactly what I said you are.