The ontologically evil ipad- though in her mother's eyes, I would be repeating myself- was bought secondhand on a steep discount, and after all the filters and blacklists installed no money was saved at all. Not even the Technology Buddy™️ hired to check her KosherBrowse™️ history weekly could save the thing from having been marinated by previous owners in porn sites and groupchats, which are a step away from porn sites if you think about it, or, of course, from being an ipad. Technology corrupts, even if you swear (b'li neder) you'll only use it for work: The email in return might show a headshot of a person inappropriately dressed, or a signature with she/her/hers following the name- the outside world leaking in. But she does need the money, particularly with her first child on the way, even the most traditional types know being a stay-at-home mother is simply impossible in this degraded, sinful Galus where a nice 2 bedroom goes for $3,800.

A frum motherhood facebook group should be fine for the expecting, yes? I checked it out, not a trace of Woke. Cesspool of disgusting traditionalis-

Excuse me. I forget myself.

Regardless, social media- pause to spit- is against the terms of the service who hires me out, and I cannot whitelist it for her no matter how reasonably she explains herself. She even, jokingly, pouted at me, whined "Awww, pretty please," something I.... That isn't relevant.

Is what I wish I could say, of course, but it's all too relevant, isn't it? We get nowhere when I keep the skeleton in my closet, so I might as well come clean to you: her batted eyelashes were on my mind when I closed my eyes that night. I'm weird. I'm a weirdo, a pervert, I signed up to do this job, deep cover in religious practice for years to meet my goal, to watch over those struggling with Technology Addiction, to hide the excited tremble in my voice when I express maternal disappointment at some fresh out of sem girl's Pinterest board with a few too many shirtless men in it. This isn't true to your neshama, this isn't in the nature of a woman, sweetie, it's males who were born with the desire for.... inappropriate things. You're letting technology corrupt you, see you next week. Only takes one hand to scroll through their histories, the other- You, who read this on the filthy internet, can guess.

My dream is to be found out a few years in, causing a moral panic rendering these services completely unusable, though the way its been going I'm sure my job'll be taken by AI before then.

Whew. With that out of the way....

We meet on the videocall service provided by KosherBrowse™, once a week. Zoom is too scandalous, ours blurs your face if you're a woman and closes the call immediately if it detects anything even close to its list of blacklisted words.

"You're fine," I said at our appointment last night. Really, there was nothing to discuss, just refreshing the everpresent threat of surveillance and fifty dollars from her mother in my bank account please. She's quite the good girl, this one, save for her little yearning sigh for Facebook. With her face blurred, there's nowhere to look but her chest, tzniyus under a loose fitting hoodie, I've had the distinct privilege of watching her cup size grow during pregnancy. I was in a pastel button down and black cardigan, practically a high school uniform, but hidden from the camera it makes me run hot to wear jeans and paint my toenails red, the most a wayward daughter in any short story can visually rebel before the magazine's editing team gets scared. I was about to hang up, when-

"Can I ask, um, a hashkafa question?"

I squeezed my thigh under the table to redirect the energy, lest my face give me away. I'm supposed to transfer her to our 24/6 rabbinical hotline.

"Absolutely. Ask away."

"Do you think it's weird that married women don't have to cover their hair for each other? Like, my best friend and I, we started going shopping for Shabbos together-" (this I already know from Thursday night visits to a cafe next door to the grocery, a modern place whose website only menu I whitelisted especially for her- I can put the time and day together) "-and then I help her bring it all in and her husband is out so we take off our tichels while we put everything away, and it just feels, like, I don't know..."

"Special?" intimate would have ended our session.

"Yeah." The blur of her face seemed to purse its lips and my heart raced.

"I don't think you need to go inventing new Halachos," I laugh. "If your husband is okay with it, you can be okay with it."

She thinks about it. I wonder if she had even asked her husband.

"Just enjoy spending time with your best friend, okay?" I couldn't tell her to prioritize her friend, or to keep watch for how her friend's hair makes her stomach feel, as I have to watch my words. I, too, am being reviewed, up and up in a hierarchy that ends presumably with G-d. "It can be hard to make time for friends once you're married, but it's really important. You can't give to others without self-care."

After such a session...! It was time for a little self-care myself, if you get my drift?

Anyway. I've got to be going- work, what else - but if you're the same sort I am, you can always read the browser histories with me.

Oh? I didn't think you'd take me up on it... I like you. Ahh, and here I thought online dating would be a waste of time.