I’ve Got My Online Security Locked Down

My pin number is my birthday, but literally no one remembers my birthday. Not even my mother, and she remembers everything. Like, when I was three and “let loose some Lady Grey” on the Oriental rug in the middle of her tea party. Maybe you should make that your pin number, Mother.

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I only buy things on Amazon that I could instantly return, like moisture-wicking underwear, which is like totally cool to send back if it hasn’t yet wicked. It’s called “zero carbon footprint, eventually,” baby!

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And just because I take security double-extra seriously, I’ve legally changed my name to “1234 Password.” Ahem, “1234 Password, PhD.”

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I make sure and keep on top of my other passwords by loudly announcing them to everyone in line with me at the same Panera Bread, and immediately appointing the dude with glasses my “memory guy.”

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My Twitter bio is 100% lies! Except the part about me living at 331 Greenbriar Terrace. You can find out where I live, but good luck on your next move after that, doxxers!

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My Instagram backgrounds are not from my home, but from homes I couldn’t even dream of affording. Which I prove by listing all my bank details.

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Accept all cookies? Uh, no. Wait, that means I have to read through something else? NOM NOMNOM!

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I’m pretty confident that, by now, Alexa has learned to recognize that everything I say out loud in my house is actually me playing my ironic alter ego, “Brunhilde Von Aebleskiver.”

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I make sure to cancel all “30-Day Free Trials” after some multiple of 30 has passed.

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You need a credit card number? Joke’s on you, because every piece of my buying habits you get, I get a few points closer to a free scarf from Banana Republic.

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I only click on links I see on Facebook if, like, I totally have to show Sheila. Because look, Zuckerberg, not even your billions are going to protect you from the wrath of Sheila’ FOMO.

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Good luck stealing my birth certificate, Mr. Identity Thief (if that is your real name), since I’ve shredded it and made it the wallpaper on my phone!

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Am I or am I not a robot? Figure it out for yourself, Blade Runner! (I am, and my IP Address is…)