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FARGO 鈥� Oh, how I miss those days.

How I long for the old days, when the only subscription I had was .

You resubscribed once a year, usually because the magazine was stuffed with irritating little cards that said: 鈥淯h-oh! It鈥檚 your last issue! If you really want to find out how to make your own acid-washed prom dress, resubscribe today!鈥�

That was it. There was no such thing as auto-subscribe. You placed a check (Kids: For definition, see page 3,186 of 鈥淏oomer Handbook鈥�) in an envelope, took a 20-cent stamp (see page 1,327 of aforementioned handbook) from your mom鈥檚 pocketbook and mailed it (see page 1,341) to someplace like Flushing, N.Y.

Lo and behold, four weeks later, the first issue of your new subscription would arrive, bulging with perfume samples for , stories on how to rock a rockabilly mullet and in-depth articles titled, 鈥淔ive fun facts about dreamy Kurt Cameron!鈥�

They lured you in with an offer that seemed too good to refuse: Pay just a penny and get 11 tapes, CDs or records. All that was required was that you bought three to five CDs or tapes at regular club prices over the next year.

Each month, your mailbox would fill with irritating Columbia House catalogs. If you couldn鈥檛 find a title that looked good to you, you could send in a postcard to the company that told them not to send anything.

Unfortunately, this was all done by snail mail, so you needed to send back the card almost as soon as you got it. And because my 20s weren鈥檛 a time in which I bothered with details like, say, opening my mail or paying bills on time, I almost never got the card returned by the deadline.

As a result, I often got saddled with CDs I didn鈥檛 want. Columbia House鈥檚 business model seemed built on the knowledge that no one would send back their card every month, so then they could unload titles from r or 鈥淭he London Symphony Orchestra Plays Right Said Fred鈥檚 Biggest Hit(s).鈥�

But that subscription model paled in comparison to

Now all it requires is to click a link 鈥� sometimes accidentally 鈥� to find out you鈥檝e spent the last four months paying for a GrubDashDudes food-delivery service that you have never used or are inexplicably tied to a three-year digital subscription to Guns and Tattoos magazine.

But the worst are those shiny 鈥淕et one month free!鈥� offers on streaming channels. As a woman with questionable sales resistance and a limitless thirst for bad TV, I鈥檝e been known to click that little button for 鈥淔ree Starz鈥� or 鈥淔ree Premium Peacock,鈥� so I can watch something educational and life-affirming like 鈥淭he Seedy Underbelly of TV's Beloved 'Facts of Life,'鈥� or 鈥淲hatever Happened to Pauly Shore?鈥�

I鈥檒l even place an e-minder in my phone to cancel the subscription before the free period expires. But because it gets lost amid my dozens of reminders to make a Klarna payment or 鈥淲ear hard pants: You鈥檙e seeing actual people today,鈥� I often forget.

Then, when I finally track down the email to cancel a subscription (printed in white, agate type at the very bottom of its 鈥淚nvestor Relations鈥� page), I receive an email that says: 鈥淲e鈥檙e sorry to see you go. As you subscribed for our three-year service, feel free to enjoy our Grandmas with Road Rage channel until June 30, 2025.鈥�

I realize there are and even cancel them for you. In a sick twist of fate, these apps also require a subscription.

Ugh. Now those subscription cards don't seem half bad.