Dear Netflix,

I am not running a pyramid scheme. I am not trying to stream the Dark Web. I am not reselling “Gilmore Girls” out of the back of a 2008 Toyota Prius. I’m trying to watch “Nobody Wants This,” and I can’t.

I know you’ve been experiencing bursts of “who are you and why are you in this household,” but I need it to stop. If you say “looks like you’re not home” one more time, I may just lose my mind. Because, and think about this hard, what truly is home?

Home is where you’re with the ones you love. I love my roommates. I love my college town that is not my “home” town. I love this couch, and I love logging into your platform with ease.

You know what I don’t love? I don’t love calling my mom three times a day begging to be sent the code she just received in her email. I don’t love it when she doesn’t answer and I spam text her with “can you send the code?” with the shame of a Victorian child begging for another spoonful of soup.

I don’t love it when she sends the code 30 minutes later, only for it to be expired, starting the process all over again. And my mom presumably doesn’t love that my roommates now know her email by heart.

So please, Netflix. Please believe that I am still a part of the metaphorical family household that makes monthly payments toward the account. What else must I provide? A utility bill? A blood oath? It’s getting out of hand.

If you block me again, I will sign up for a Tubi account. Premium, even.

This is a threat.

Sincerely,

Elsie