“By 2030 I won’t need to carry any Portable Communication Device, because by then I will have mastered the art of telepathy. I’ve been practicing in the mirror.” (Jarod Kintz, The Lewis and Clark of The Ozarks)

When I was a kid home sick from school, I’d curl up in bed and watch reruns of my favorite sitcoms at the time: Bewitched, I Dream of Jeannie, and Gilligan’s Island. In one memorable episode of Gilligan’s Island, Gilligan finds a rare bush on the island and eats one of its seeds. Instead of uncovering a new food source for the castaways, he discovers that this seed has extraordinary power, granting him and anyone else who consumes it the ability to temporarily read minds and hear what others are thinking.  The other castaways want in on the action and at first, this telepathic ability seems like an irresistible novelty.  As their private thoughts become known to each other, arguments, misunderstandings and hurt feelings arise, and the island descends into chaos.  It was a cautionary tale, episodes ahead of its time.

My iPhone has become that magical bush. I swear, it is reading my mind.

By now it’s basically accepted that our smartphones are the nosiest roommates we’ve ever had. They listen. Mention to a friend that you’re thinking about buying a new raspberry beret, and before you can finish your coffee, your social media feeds will be flooded with ads for berets, fedoras, pork-pie hats, and every vaguely pink head covering known to man.  It’s undeniably creepy, yet somehow, it’s an unspoken agreement we’ve come to accept. These days, it helps to speak as though a gossip-loving, snooping aunt is hiding in our pocket, taking notes and sharing them with every advertiser she knows.

But the impression that my phone was reading my mind? I thought I might finally be “going round the bend,” as the Brits say until a sensible and brave woman I follow on social media dared to put the question into words. She shared her suspicion in a baffled post, and before long the comments section looked like a support group for the telepathically haunted. People claimed they merely reminded themselves—silently, in the privacy of their own brains—to pick up hemorrhoid cream on their next pharmacy run, and within minutes Preparation H was popping up on every scroll like an overenthusiastic pharmacist, warning them of the dire consequences the pain and itching will bring. Others reported that a fleeting thought about craving a milkshake somehow triggered an avalanche of Dairy Queen ads featuring their new Fruity Pebbles Shake, only $4.89 for a large, while whispering, “Go on… you know you want one.”

It’s happening, it’s real, and it’s diabolical:  Our phones are reading our innermost thoughts.

Dangerous times call for drastic measures. I’m seriously considering wearing a blank RFID-blocking band across my forehead, made from the same electromagnetic shielding material that protects your wallet from digital pickpockets. And, there could be a surprising upside to this measure: Renting advertising space on my forehead might turn into a profitable side gig.