Silverthreads is sitting quietly at her computer busily surfing the net, when suddenly in the midst of downloading email, the colorful 17" diameter screen blinks at her and demands that the password for the email connection be re-entered into the small box provided.
This is not an easy request for poor Silverthreads as this particular mailbox originated several years ago when both she and the internet were much younger. Times were simple then. No one cared what your private password was, no one sought it out, no one, not even your spouse, cared enough to write it down. It was entered once, when an account was set up, and then easily forgotten, inscribed in binary language somewhere in the bowels of the most recent Chip.
Chip is usually quite handy, like Batman's butler Alfred. He always has just the right word for the right site within his grasp and serves it up nattily, without fanfare. Not this time. Apparently the email site is undergoing some sort of traumatic overhaul and needs the owner of the account to actually Do Something. Chip is only the hired help, after all.
Chip is also not cooperating. Where is the damn thing? He can't find it! He pretends he never knew it in the first place. A new tab opens the home page of the email account. (At least he remembers how to navigate the net.)
After several tries, the account decides for Silverthreads. "Let's just create a new password, plug it where it needs to be and be done with it."
The first word she types is the word she uses EVERYWHERE. She knows this is NOT SAFE, but this is a word she can easily pluck from her mind and, besides, it's easy to type.
"Weak," says the account software. "Recommend using capital letters and numbers."
The second try. "Too Short," says the account software. "Must be at least 8 letters or more."
The third try. "This password is already in use," says the account software. Huh? How in the world could someone else have used Silverthreads' favorite stuffed animal's name spelled like she pronounced it when she was three?
Unlike Goldilocks who only had to test three chairs and three bowls and three beds in order to find the one that was just right, Silverthreads tests twenty-three passwords before she finds one that fits. It has more than 8 letters, two capital letters and a number to make a word. The word isn't one often noticed around Silverthreads' home. It isn't the name of the dog or of the cat. It isn't a favorite toy or the maiden name of grandma's great-grandmother.
It's a word that was lying there on the desk all the time. In plain view. It's a word that should please good ole Chip. It's a word that even the most picky of all email accounts can love. It's a word that can be used again and again on all sorts of Internet accounts; it's just that good.
It's a word that Silverthreads has already forgotten. Lucky for her, she has a little notebook labeled PassW0rds. Lucky for her, she wrote it down.
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