To the absolute horror of my children, I now have a Bitmoji.

Robin Conte is a writer and mother of four who lives in Dunwoody. She can be contacted at robinjm@earthlink.net.

And I finally figured out that a very effective way to get back at the offspring for all the years of toddler tantrums, teen angst and post-graduate anxiety (and let’s not forget the combined 73 hours of labor), is to bombard them with Bitmojis … constant streams of cringe-worthy Bitmojis.

It’s like seeing me in a bathing suit. They hate it.

A Bitmoji, as you know, is basically an emoji cubed. It’s a smiley-face unleashed in its animated form. It’s an iPaper doll with attitude. It’s an app on your smartPhone that creates a cartoon avatar of yourself and comes to life as your alter ego, complete with your face, your hair, your eyes and your wardrobe of choice. It was apparently invented for 12-year-old girls and middle-aged women, but now practically everyone has one.

One of the allures of Bitmoji-dom is that you can create your own and ostensibly personalize it to look just like you. But who are we kidding? It will look much better than you do. Faster than you can say “Botox,” you can choose a wrinkle-free complexion; in the time it takes to google “Mediterranean diet,” you can give your cyber-self a flab-free body. And then you can revert to your inner child and dress your little bitty Bitmoji.

Bitmoji Robin may not look vengeful, but don’t let that fool you.

I’ve done all that, and I have produced a Bitmoji that is way hotter than I am. She dresses better than I do, too. I’m actually getting jealous of my Bitmoji because she looks good in everything, even outfits I haven’t worn since I was 21, like a midriff top and cutoff shorts. She’s fab in the Wonder Woman getup, and she totally rocks the Turtleneck & Chain. She even looks good in a broken eggshell.

My Bitmoji is also more coordinated than I am, more adventurous than I am, more competent than I am, and wittier than I am. Plus, she has a lot more fun than I do. I don’t know if I can live up to her. But I’m still going to keep her around, because everything is cute in Bitmoji speak. You see, a Bitmoji is like an Irish accent, in that you can say anything with one and get away with it. You want to break up? Say you’re running late? Dis someone? Ask someone to the prom? There’s a Bitmoji for that. And there’s a Bitmoji that says, “There’s a Bitmoji for That.”

Which brings me back to annoying the kids. Why just ask them to call me when I can send my Bitmoji with a megaphone to do the dirty work? Or I could opt for a sassy message in the form of my Bitself flopping on the couch, asking the colorful question, “What Up Fam?” If they’re not sending me photos or following through on various tasks, I can admonish them with my Bitself dressed as a carrot top and threaten to send more.

Once they see me in Bitform, striking a John Travolta “Saturday Night Fever” pose beneath a disco ball, they’ll beg for mercy.

Revenge is sweet.