Pink Slip

Betsy stared at the severance check and wept.
“Is this all I’m worth to you now?” she asked her boss.
“Come on Betsy,” said her boss. “You knew this was coming ever since they invented email.”
“But it was such a good gig,” said Betsy.
“Was… was a good gig,” the boss emphasized. “Nobody wants singing telegrams anymore.”
“I still get fan letters,” she said.
“But not new orders,” said her boss. “I’m sorry, but it’s either let you go or shut things down.”
He let Betsy keep her feather boa, the same one she’d been using for 60 years.