Apparently I didn’t get the memo on deleting browsing history. I tell my kids all the time, once you put it out there, it’s always out there. Buried in the dark recesses of the internet are some regretful searches, you know the ones I am talking about; you thought you weren’t hurting anyone and of course it was all in the name of research for that novel/blog post/short story/sext you were not expecting to ever see the light of day.
If Homeland Security ever confiscated my computer they would find a great deal of questionable internet activity. Better get the handcuffs ready.
The Federal government of these United States of America does not have enough money nor manpower to plow through the mountain of online shopping history in my browser. Surely the brainiacs at the FBI will see it for what they think it really is – a cover for some clandestine terrorist activity. In truth, someone (me) can search that many pairs of summer/coral/linen/size 8/espadrille wedges in order to find that one perfect outfit maker.
Although a quick thinking CIA Agent may think I am recruiting an army of shirtless buff men to overthrow the government, it’s not true. I, like every other red blooded American, am simply seeking that one sultry Ryan Gosling pic where he is staring directly into my eyes. If it means I have to drool over hundreds if not thousands of pictures of Ryan, I will do it for the good of God and country. It’s a dirty job but someone has to do it. Saying Ryan and dirty in the same sentence has me losing my train of thought.
Now that I am distracted thinking about Ryan, Homeland Security thinks they’ve got me. Can someone really follow that many WordPress sites blabbering on about women, marriage, children, Ryan Gosling and life in your 40s? Or are they manifestos of anti-government rhetoric hidden between the lines of PTA sagas and lack of sex drive? I love my WordPress sites, Officer, I need my WordPress sites.
I am an open book. Nothing too risqué or illegal until recently when I went into the browsing history on our family computer to see if those shoes I passed up on were still on sale. And there it was between Nordstrom and Banana Republic, someone had searched Young Girls and Happy Endings.
Is that a porn site?
Or worse, a porn site involving innocent under-age girls?
I felt my stomach churn and sickness rise up in my mouth. Who would be googling such a thing? I knew it wasn’t me and I quickly excluded my daughter which meant the 3 men in my house. Although you can never rule out my 11 year old son when it comes to trouble, if he googled the above phrase, he was most likely looking for the opening date of the newest Hunger Games movie eager to see if Katniss defied the odds and found happily ever after. That would be too much to hope for.
That left my husband and 16 year old. Which one would I rather be searching such a phrase? My mind was spinning in all directions – none of them good. 16? At 16, my husband was sneaking peeks at Playboy and his hormonal mind couldn’t haven’t comprehended the amount of porn available on the internet. But my 16 year old son has a smart phone of his own and it just didn’t seem to fit. He would probably be smart enough to delete the history.
Which left my husband as the only likely suspect. Unlike the Federal Government, I had already tried and convicted him in my mind. Tormented, I clicked the link in the browser history, half shielding my eyes; oh no, it was taking me to a You Tube video. I felt like I was going to throw up.
Wait, it’s a song by Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci. 1990s Indie pop – just the stuff my husband loves and has listened to since he was 13 (before Playboy). A band nobody else ever heard of, a song not on anyone’s radar and the lyrics had to do with the happy endings of fairy tales not what my gutter mind conjured up.
I wiped the sweat from my brow. Although I knew it was out there for prosperity, I still clicked the link to delete our browser history mostly so my husband wouldn’t figure out how much I spend on shoes.