Hey there Google. I would like to tell you a story.
Tonight, I tried to access an old email account. The account automatically forwards to my account, so I haven't needed to access anything in there for a long time. BUT, tonight I did. "Why?" you ask coyly from your side of the couch. Here's why - the old account's login is my maiden name (this account, to which I had to add NUMBERS because apparently Jess Browns are a dime a decadozen, is my married name) and therefore has all of my pre-smugmarried email. Some of which I wanted to access. Tonight. But guess what? I have been married 5 years.
In these 5 years, I have (maybe? as a generous guess) accessed my email approximately 10 times. And those 10 times were much closer to the date of my wedding than they are to the date of my 5 year anniversary (it was August 9th, in case you'd like to send a belated card). Which means, OBVIOUSLY I have forgotten my password.
This wouldn't be an issue if the recovery process was something that hinged on my ability to answer questions about myself, like what my mother's maiden name is, where I was born, the name of my favorite pet (his name is Moose and he's a good-looking but very anxious beagle, in case you'd like to send a treat), or my father's mother's favorite uncle's high school mascot (okay, I don't really know that... but I could probably find it out. You know, with public census records and such). However, what you, The Google, require of me to retrieve a password (that I forgot! Clearly I am not a steel trap, an elephant, or a hard drive... this memory is limited to things about which I care an exceptional amount - myself - and UsWeekly's "Who Wore it Best" column) is far beyond my mental capacity; you ask me to remember when I created the account (down to the month! I can't remember the darn year!) and also to remember the last time I remember logging into the account, DOWN TO THE EXACT DAY. Obviously I got these questions wrong. What kind of people get these right?! ("Aliens, and OCD Type-A Aliens," you murmur as you pass out from boredom at my lengthy rant.) I barely remember what day I got married! I mean, I remember it, as illustrated above... anniversary card welcome... but it takes some thought to pull even that out of ye olde memory banke, and that's up on the list with my birthday, Christmas, and which Thursday Thanksgiving falls on. And I don't really know that last one all that well. Also, I should probably put the 5-years husband's birthday on that list... but we all know what really matters to me - myself.
PLEASE. I just want to log into my email. I am not going to be able to remember what dates I created it. My memory is bad and I feel bad. Can't you help a lady out? Send her an anniversary card. I mean, wait... what was I doing? Oh, right - PLEASE JUST LET ME HAVE MY EMAIL.
Ask me any questions you want (about myself) anytime. I'll even show you my passport. I swear I'm not a Nigerian prince (though if you want to send money to one, I'm your guy).
With much love for your products, but waning love for your policies,
Jess M. Brown (08)
Welp. There you have it. Blaaghghingh resumed. Oh, and here's a pic so this was totally worth your time:
That's my couch. Now you know where I bhlahaghghagh from.