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I was horrified when I got the latest envelope from my mom. It wasn't the envelope that was so disturbing, it was what I found inside the envelope.

You have to know that my mother, who lives in South Florida, sends me things all of the time. She's a total pack rat, she reads and saves everything -- articles, quotes, pictures, comics -- and likes to share it all with me. Consequently, I often receive envelopes in the mail from her, the contents of which are folded up articles from newspapers and magazines with circled bits to be sure I look at a particular section, phrase, or graph. There are never any explanatory notes to accompany the stuff she sends me. Not even a post-it that says "Hello!"

Anyway, a recent envelope I received had horrifying contents: three pages ripped out of New York Magazine from the "Men Looking For Women" section of the "Stricty Personals" pages. As if that wasn't bad enough, my mother had actually circled some of the men's profiles with a bright red pen.

One guy she circled seemingly only because he wore glasses and she knows that sometimes I like men with glasses. In another profile, she circled the guy's occupation: "IT dude and wannabe novelist." Like that's the man I'm meant to be with. She also circled his answer to the question "Best (or worst) lie I've ever told" in which he wrote "'I am totally paying attention to you.'" (Kind of funny.) She also underlined (not circled) the part where he said, "I'm often antisocial. I sometimes forget to stifle my belches. I tend to glare at people." My mom thought I'd get a kick out of that, apparently.

In two other men's ads my mother simply circled their occupations: web developer-designer-writer and photographer. (Oh! Perfect! Check! Thanks, Mom! I owe you!)

I couldn't believe my mother had done this. I thought we'd long gone over the issue of her trying to set me up with men. It's never, ever a good idea. I don't care if your mother is Yenta.

Granted, all of the men she circled were kind of cute, but that was hardly the point. I was about ready to tear up the pages and get on the horn to scold her and tell her exactly how much I disapproved of this kind of activity when I noticed on the last page, she'd circled a different kind of ad:

That's when I knew she was joking.

Yep. This is the kind of zing my mother brings to the table.