I stared at the screen.
This couldn’t be right.
It had to be a mistake.
No way could this actually be happening to me?
How could they have known?
I wasn’t that bad. . . was I?
I looked closer.
I scrolled farther.
It all checked out.
What was going on? How could I have let it gone this far?
My hands were shaking.
My head was spinning.
I knew, at my very core, that I had a problem.
I started to leave.
There was nothing more for me to see here.
But wait—
—was that—
—a typo?
What?
On something like this?
Who possibly could have let that slip by?
They’re just adding insult to injury at this point.
I clicked on it again, searching for some, for any explanation.
And then—
There it was.
The missing piece.
The part of the puzzle that I had been too scared to hope for this whole time.
All of a sudden, it all fell into place.
I double-checked, just to make sure.
Sure enough—
It was still there.
I wasn’t dreaming.
It’s all going to be okay.
I guess I don’t have a problem.
All is well.
And that, my friends, is the story of how Spotify convinced me that I had listened to so much ABBA in my lifetime that they turned my entire Discover Weekly playlist into a tribute hour to terrible-but-wonderful covers of equally terrible-but-wonderful disco songs, before I realized that it was actually a “Discocover Weekly” playlist and the whole thing was an enormous, well-executed, freakishly-in-line-with-my-pre-established-listening-habits April Fools’ Joke.
Happy April, everybody.