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August 1, 2024
Stop Stalking Me
By Mikie Baker
The Bandera Prophet
At the ripe old age of 22, my biggest fear was meeting a Stalker, meaning a man who couldn’t get over my beauty (quit laughing, I said I was 22) so he stalked me. My fears were totally unfounded, but recently I have been attacked by a multitude of Stalkers who have no romance in mind for this retired chick.
In the last year, I’ve let way too many Stalkers into my home. It started during the online holiday shopping extravaganza where I proclaimed, “It’s Christmas Time! Let’s get everybody a present! And we need discounts! Sure – here’s my email, my phone number and how much of a discount do I get?”
I got plenty of discounts, but they’ve been stalking me ever since. I’m about to Unsubscribe the entire Universe except for that one shoe company who’s always giving two for $60 deals with free shipping because their shoes don’t hurt my feet.
But back to the Stalkers. They follow us everywhere.
Let’s start with every woman’s Achilles heel, shoes. Yes, ladies, I love them, too. In the day, they were the hottest four-inch heels ever and matched your outfit perfectly. Today, if you find a perfect fitting pair of flats, you buy a pair in every color. And that’s where they get you. It’s spring, summer or fall, but get 60% off and free shipping. Enter code IDIOT60. Now I’m afraid to text STOP because what if I miss a sale?
Then there’s clothes. The funny thing about this Stalker is that he sends you exciting emails about this great item you love that’s now on sale! Excuse me, I already bought that for Christmas so tell your AI to grow a brain.
But I haven’t even gotten to Facebook, which is the evilest Stalker of all. He’s an Algorithm Stalker and he knows more about me than all my boyfriends, husband and fiancé combined.
He urges me to click on all plant sites (gardener), any earring, pottery, or opera site (just kidding, yawn) that I’ve recently glanced at. The other day, Facebook was pitching shoe underwear to me. I’m not kidding. Google it, but I warn you, you might regret it.
Even more Stalker worrisome is clicking on some recipe brought forth by the Search Bar and suddenly you must cook all their meals. Oh, stop it. I don’t want to know how to can succotash for 20. And please don’t suggest hair styles for gray-haired ladies. Leave my hair alone. I’m old and my hair does weird stuff that even my hairdresser can’t figure out.
Lastly, are the emails from hell. I swear it’s the end of times when they beg me to get hearing aids (what?), buy an expensive wooden bowl from artisans, save a third world economy by purchasing a hand woven something or other, not to mention finding my way to a happy financial future with insurance for only $9.99 a month.
Just stop it. And AARP, you stop, too. Shiny magazines, plastic cards and weird discounts aren’t going to get me anywhere other than a dicey hotel in a small west Texas town.
Because it’s August, which means “hide inside hot,” I think I’ll take the opportunity to Unsubscribe to most everything in my life, so I won’t spend any more money on anything ever except maybe more shoes that are two for $60 with free shipping. Try code STALKER4EVER to get your discount, but I warn you, too many comfortable shoes and “Unsubscribe” are in your future.
In the last year, I’ve let way too many Stalkers into my home. It started during the online holiday shopping extravaganza where I proclaimed, “It’s Christmas Time! Let’s get everybody a present! And we need discounts! Sure – here’s my email, my phone number and how much of a discount do I get?”
I got plenty of discounts, but they’ve been stalking me ever since. I’m about to Unsubscribe the entire Universe except for that one shoe company who’s always giving two for $60 deals with free shipping because their shoes don’t hurt my feet.
But back to the Stalkers. They follow us everywhere.
Let’s start with every woman’s Achilles heel, shoes. Yes, ladies, I love them, too. In the day, they were the hottest four-inch heels ever and matched your outfit perfectly. Today, if you find a perfect fitting pair of flats, you buy a pair in every color. And that’s where they get you. It’s spring, summer or fall, but get 60% off and free shipping. Enter code IDIOT60. Now I’m afraid to text STOP because what if I miss a sale?
Then there’s clothes. The funny thing about this Stalker is that he sends you exciting emails about this great item you love that’s now on sale! Excuse me, I already bought that for Christmas so tell your AI to grow a brain.
But I haven’t even gotten to Facebook, which is the evilest Stalker of all. He’s an Algorithm Stalker and he knows more about me than all my boyfriends, husband and fiancé combined.
He urges me to click on all plant sites (gardener), any earring, pottery, or opera site (just kidding, yawn) that I’ve recently glanced at. The other day, Facebook was pitching shoe underwear to me. I’m not kidding. Google it, but I warn you, you might regret it.
Even more Stalker worrisome is clicking on some recipe brought forth by the Search Bar and suddenly you must cook all their meals. Oh, stop it. I don’t want to know how to can succotash for 20. And please don’t suggest hair styles for gray-haired ladies. Leave my hair alone. I’m old and my hair does weird stuff that even my hairdresser can’t figure out.
Lastly, are the emails from hell. I swear it’s the end of times when they beg me to get hearing aids (what?), buy an expensive wooden bowl from artisans, save a third world economy by purchasing a hand woven something or other, not to mention finding my way to a happy financial future with insurance for only $9.99 a month.
Just stop it. And AARP, you stop, too. Shiny magazines, plastic cards and weird discounts aren’t going to get me anywhere other than a dicey hotel in a small west Texas town.
Because it’s August, which means “hide inside hot,” I think I’ll take the opportunity to Unsubscribe to most everything in my life, so I won’t spend any more money on anything ever except maybe more shoes that are two for $60 with free shipping. Try code STALKER4EVER to get your discount, but I warn you, too many comfortable shoes and “Unsubscribe” are in your future.