A couple years ago, I started password-protecting stories about my students so I wouldn’t get dooced, and occasionally I lock down a post about a boy and/or a dirty thing I do. My friends have the password. So does my dad, so he gets to read about the dirty things.
Awk-ward.
Anyway, I have a lot of friends, and I’ve made friends, friends who wanted the password, so I gave it to them. A person here, a person there, and it’s gotten a little unwieldy.
It’s not that I regret giving anyone the password—basically, I just need a list of who has the it, so in case somebody blabs, I’ll know whose bed to short-sheet. Or at least which 30 beds to start with.
So it’s time to reset. New password. Ready? And the password is—
Jk, you have to send me a message to get it.
(Dad, you can still have the password/read about the dirty things. Even though it’s awkward.)
i cannot believe i will no longer be part of your password. it’s ok, really. it just hurts . . .
Dooced! I love it.