Urgently needing to make a wire transfer, I log on to my banking website. Immediately a challenge confronts me: “Halt!” says the site. “You shall not proceed until you enable cookies.”
Fond as I am of cookies, I follow the site’s instructions to re-enable their entrance. In my browser’s preferences window, however, I see that cookies are not, in any way, blocked. And why would they be? I love cookies – all cookies, but especially my own. At a loss, I try to cajole them into returning. “Come hither, little cookies,” I coo. “I adore you, my cookies. Don’t run, little cookies! Don’t be afraid.”
The cookies ignore me. They are nowhere to be seen. Not a Chocolate Chunk or an Oatmeal Raisin, or, heaven forbid, a Snickerdoodle, in sight.
“Alas!” I wail, “I’ll never complete this wire transfer, at least not as long as those timid cookies avoid me as they flit hither and yon.”
Technology has vanquished me once again. I lie down on the floor under a white, furry throw rug and decide to write a check instead.