Somebody stole my Netflix account. The bastard changed my credit card to his immediately, so I have no idea why he’d want my account in the first place. But that’s what happened. He locked me out and I couldn’t regain access. All I could do was cancel it completely and start a new one.
As a result, Netflix no longer has my history of viewing. It recommends the saddest, sorriest crap to me, such as a movie (or a documentary or a series, whatever) about Megan Markle and Prince Harry. Poor N who also uses my account has no idea who these individuals even are, and I’d like to keep him innocent if their existence. Yet there they are, constantly thrust into our faces.
A large variety of shows about lonely, embittered middle-aged women is now being recommended to me. I never knew this was such a popular genre. As the mother of a first-grader, I’m living the life of somebody much younger, so the struggles of the women who are lonely and unneeded do not resonate.