I realized the importance of deleting my Netflix viewing history today when my entire family was over to celebrate my cousin’s birthday.
We got to talking about how Pitch Perfect 2 was recently in theaters and how not everyone had seen the first one. My cousin highly recommended it. “We should watch it, like, right now!” said my mom enthusiastically.
So we all piled into the living room, and my mom grabbed the remote and started clicking around on the TV. Netflix buffered for about 3 minutes, and when it finally came up, my mom accidentally clicked on my name instead of hers, and my list outed itself on the screen in front of everyone.
In a moment of panic, my heart lurched into my throat. Did I remember to delete the last episode of The L Word? I thought frantically.
I’ve been getting lazy about deleting them lately. I’ve had thoughts such as, Whatever, I don’t care if someone finds it. They shouldn’t be snooping on my history anyway. If they do, they’ll get a pleasant surprise and it’ll be their own damn fault. I was picturing something like my dad finding it on his laptop in the basement late one night, not being outed by my account in front of my entire family.
There have been other frightening moments. Like the time my brother Liam went on my laptop to look something up, and sitting open on the screen was the Word document of one of these posts, plus the Curve magazine page, plus my blog feed of wonderful lesbianic posts from you guys. Or the time we were packing up my old apartment in the city and my feminist lesbian porn DVD fell out of a container onto the floor but I covered it with a towel before my mom could turn around. But yeah. Today.
Fortunately, I had remembered to delete my history, and all that showed up in front of everyone were Friends, Parenthood, Grey’s Anatomy, and a few movies that didn’t have 2 women kissing on the cover. For real, guys. My life might have been over by now.
Of course, I could have made something up. “Emma wanted me to watch it. You know, because she’s bi.” Or some other shit excuse. But I think my panic would only confirm what they’ve been suspecting.
And also, I know it’s lame to share a Netflix account with my family – I should just get my own damn login. But I’m trying to save money for more important stuff like moving out. It’ll be soon though, I promise.
Being in the closet is a true paranoia game. You start to doubt everyone. You start to think they’re out to get you…And every day is fucking scary.