I Was Wrong And Now ADC Is My BFF


A.com's chasing after me. That's okay. We're BFF's.

I was all set to run away from my computer. She was scaring me.

I’m not afraid to admit when I’m wrong, but that doesn’t mean I like it. In fact, being wrong really bites. My trouble is I get plenty of occasions to practice eating humble pie by having and losing bets with Hubby. Inevitably, we’ll get into a discussion, which then leads to quick search of the internet and a declaration of the ultimate victor. Sometimes, I really wonder what couples did before Wikipedia and Google. No doubt the arguments just kept going round and round for years. I guess in some ways, this new high tech world we live in is nicer. Now, instead of churning out falsehoods to eternity, I can shuffle up to my Sweetie, paste on a smile and say, “Okay, you’re right. Again.” See me seething? Grrrrrrr!


Of course, my best losing arguments aren’t always with Hubby. Such was the case when I recently visited a friend. In this instance, I was wrong about Amazon.com. You see, for the longest time I’ve felt stalked and spied upon by “A.Com”. I’m sure you know how this looks. With great frequency I get an email shortly after perusing their website. Without exception, the email reminds me of those items I searched on, or five hundred others just like it.


I hated Amazon, but then my friend explained things.

How does A.com know so much about me?

At first, I thought it was an odd coincidence that I’d look at, say, “Nespresso coffee makers” and then an email would pop up into my inbox the next morning sporting an enticing subject line such as, “Check out these hot buys on coffee makers—it might perk your interest.” Gosh, would you look at that? And to think I was just researching some of those yesterday!


Then I started to get suspicious. Did A.com have a whole platoon of people standing by ready to monitor all my search activity? I picture a Corporeal running up: “Sergeant Major,” he shouts, “Carol’s perusing books again.” The Sergeant Major scowls. “Don’t just stand there soldier. Round up the troops and track her every movement. Report back to me pronto, we’ve got a mission to accomplish!” Those soldiers must be highly trained Internet Seals because I always get a note from A.com suggesting several books similar to books I just viewed at precisely 0600 hours the next morning.


I'm sure A.com's got a whole phalanx of internet seals, trained and ready to track my every move.

Sadly, the plunge into paranoia is never far from suspicion. I was quite certain I didn’t want my every move tracked so I thought I’d outsmart old A.com. How? I borrow Hubby’s computer. It didn’t work! Somehow, I received an email offering great deals on dog chews shortly after doing “research” on top dog squeaky toys. How do they do it? Is there a spy cam hidden in my office? Do their agents sneak into my bedroom at night and record me mumbling as I dream? Have I been kidnapped and brain-wiped by their top torture specialist? No doubt he water-boarded every last preference out of me. I can’t say for certain, but after waking up with a wet face and deciding it couldn’t possibly be my drool, I started checking over my shoulder every 15 seconds. At least, until my neck seized up in the worst cramp ever and the doc gave me some happy pills.


The more I thought about it the angrier I got.

Believe me, I was one angry little teapot.

The more I thought about this whole A.com spying thing, the angrier I got. Pretty soon, I was like that little teapot we used to sing about as kids, only my spout wasn’t just short and stout it was spewing hot lava like that volcano in Hawaii. How dare they presume to suggest things I might want to purchase. Especially as we’re talking about me parting with my hard-earned cash. I mean, don’t they already make gazillions of dollars each year without sucking the life blood from yours truly? And while I’m on the subject, when did I ever give them permission to track my every mouse click and keystroke anyway?


As I was explaining the audacity of A.com’s actions to a friend one day, he said something that sent me straight to a trough of humble pie. I was wrong, you see. Dead wrong. A.com wasn’t trying to feather its nest and increase sales by pulling every last dime from my checking account. No—it was doing its utmost to promote inner peace and harmony. Could it be?


Life is good now.

After my friend drew me this picture, I felt so much better.

Here’s how my friend explained it: “A.com knows exactly what I want. “She” can tell by the number of times I go back to look at a trinket, or by my previous purchases or reviews. She can see how long I linger on a page. And I shouldn’t worry. A.com’s mission is entirely peaceful and benevolent. She wants nothing more than to keep me happy and fulfilled. In fact, A.com loves me and watches over my interests like my very own guardian angel of purchases. Why else would she spend so much of her precious time and gigabytes to keep track of my fleeting whims and heart’s desires? And why else would she go the extra mile and constantly drop me a short note to let me know of all the things I’m missing? Who better than she to let me know she’s discovered the perfect doo-dad to bring a smile to my face? Yes, A.com understands the real me. She’s simply trying to help me achieve my happy place.”



I felt terrible. How could I have been so wrong? It made so much sense. After my friend explained it to me, I could feel that cold, hard place in my heart softening up like a pad of butter on a sunny summer sidewalk. A.com loves me. She’s my friend! In fact, how can there be a better friend than one whose sole purpose is to help me spend money on stuff I didn’t even know I wanted?


Hubby better shape up.

Who's know where this could all end up? It's a good thing I have a new BFF.

I don’t know. Somehow, being wrong about A.com may have been the best thing to happen to me. Now, I have a new Best Friend Forever. Think of the benefits! I no longer have to get angry every five or ten seconds when I find a new email waiting in my inbox. Now, I know it’s just my new BFF, A.com, thinking about nothing but little old me. And who knows where this could lead? If Hubby keeps proving me wrong all the time or suddenly falls off a cliff, I bet A.com would be ready to hold my hand and introduce me to someone more suitable—someone who’s preferences match mine to a tee.



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