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I Regret That Email, Just A Little

I opened an email yesterday in my phone. 

Writing that sentence is weird. I’m a tail-end GenXer…that means it was a HUGE deal for me to get a regular old corded phone in my room as a teenager. Email was still a newish thing in schools/colleges when I went to UMD as a freshman; it was there and we all used it for fun, but nothing class-related. The year after I graduated college was the first to issue computers to incoming freshmen in addition to computer labs as part of the semester fees. If you’re too young to remember any of that and wonder what sort of “back in the olden days” I’m talking about, don’t worry: pretty soon that’ll be in history classes. But 20 year old me would’ve had utterly no clue how I could check email on any phone. 
I’m wandering today: I’m trying a new sort of non-Starbucks-addiction coffee with a nifty cold-brew carafe thingy. Apparently sugar rush of a mocha hits faster than the caffeine, so I’m getting used to a longer fog since this is sans all extras. Incidentally, Ragnar is lying on the office floor next to me eating the cardboard box for the carafe. Since his teeth are full of cardboard instead of sheetrock, I’m ignoring it. 
So…yesterday evening I opened an email in my phone for a retailer I very occasionally purchase from but usually just browse the paper catalog. 
This morning I have 2 follow up emails from them, 8 hours apart, saying “did you see something you liked?” and “we noticed you were looking: don’t forget”. What the actual fuck, creepy catalog retailer? I mean, I know there is ZERO privacy on the interwebz, and that what you put out there is there forever even if you try to take it down, and that the NSA is watching all data. Whatever. I figure I could choose not to participate. But retail stalker emails showing exactly the last thing you looked at on their website, asking if you forgot your purchase, feels more like one of those bad perfume salespeople at the mall chasing you. She’s wearing WAY too much of her own product and too-bright lipstick bleeding over the edges of her lipline or on her teeth, and following you three stores down the hall spraying that shit on the back of your head screaming “but you wore some, you MUST want to buy…I NEED A SALE!” 
This is why I keep my yahoo address for online shopping. And blogs. And maybe I’m just old…except I never liked the approaches from pushy lotion and perfume kiosk people at the mall either. 
Ragnar just left the room and it’s suspiciously silent downstairs. I should go check on the status of the walls. 

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