I read your sales letter and discover that your e-book promises to solve all of my marital problems.

"I'm not in *that* much trouble," I say to myself. "All I said was that her dress made her hips look big."

Nevertheless, I'm hooked.

And the fact that I can get access to your e-book in minutes is a huge motivator for me.

Heck, maybe I can use some of the tips, tricks and strategies in time to sleep in my own bed tonight.

However, before I buy, I have a couple of questions for you. So, I send you a quick e-mail...

Waiting For The Solution

Hoping for a speedy reply, I return to the bedroom. I know what awaits me there.

Though my hopes aren't high, I try to repair the damage my words have caused.

The situation rapidly deteriorates.

My attempts for reconciliation seem to make matters worse. Weakly, I suggest...

• "Your hips don't look that big, dear."

• "You're not 21 anymore, darling."

• "Nobody's going to notice, honey."

• "What do you expect after 3 kids, schnookums?"

The matter becomes desperate. Sensing my lack of skills in this area, I retreat to my study.

I check my e-mail. Silently, I pray that you've answered...

A Couch And A Blanket

No answer. Frankly, I'm not surprised. It's only been a few hours. I don't expect you to be at your computer all day.

But, I'm not willing to buy your e-book unless my questions get answered.

Stubbornly, I make preparations for a restless night on the living room couch.

I'll check e-mail again in the morning...

A New Day (With The Same Problem)

I awake and stumble over to my study. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I hit the "Check E-mail" icon.

53 e-mails start the journey from my ISP's server to my hard drive. I hope one of them is yours.

I watch them download, then display on my monitor. I scan them.

And keep scanning.

Just when I'm about to lose hope, I see your e-mail toward the bottom. I smile. I point and click, perhaps too anxiously. Your e-mail opens...

"Great," I sigh.

As I get up from my chair to get on with the day, my wife passes by. She casts a withering look in my direction.

Her look of disdain confirms that she hasn't forgiven my callous blunder of the previous night.

Under my breath, I curse your name...

DEFCON 3

Two nights have passed since I've enjoyed the warmth of my own bed. The couch is a poor substitute.

The isolation just makes it worse as I feel ostracized within my own house.

You haven't written me. Haven't replied to my questions.

Sure, your e-book may help me patch things up with my spouse, but I don't want to spend my hard-earned bucks until I'm sure about what I'm buying.

So, I wait.

The hours pass. The daylight fades. The silence in the house becomes deafening.

In a moment of panic, I send another e-mail your way. Then, I prepare for another sleepless night on the couch...

My Tail Between My Legs

Another night passes. Still no word from you. Fair or not, I've decided to *not* buy your e-book. Even if you reply to my e-mail.

I admit it. Part of my decision is based on bitterness. After all, I'm in need. I want your help. But, you're ignoring me. Or, you're oblivious of my existence.

Either way, I feel slighted.

So, gathering my courage and discarding what is left of my dignity, I approach my wife to make amends.

And I leave behind me any thought of buying your e-book.

A Lost Sale And A Lesson Learned

Let's review.

You lost me as a customer. Not just a potential customer. You lost any chance of selling me now or in the future.

And not only that.

When my buddies and I get together and trade domestic war stories, I'll mention your site. I'll mention your e-book. I'll even mention your e-book's great title and promise.

Then, I'll suggest they don't buy your e-book. And I'll tell 'em why.

If you had answered my e-mail, maybe things would be different.

Maybe I would have told my friends to buy your e-book. Maybe I would have recommended your e-book in my newsletter. It goes out to a lot of people, you know.

Maybe you wouldn't have lost me as a profitable customer and fan.

But, there *is* a solution. A cure for your negligence. I'm happy to suggest it...

Next time, answer your damn e-mail!

Damon G. Zahariades

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