Last Saturday, for reasons I still cannot fully explain, I decided to read the terms and conditions before clicking “I Agree.” Not the summary. Not the highlights. The entire document. All 47 pages. What I found has changed me in ways I am still processing.

It started with a software update. A small box appeared on my screen. “By clicking ‘Agree,’ you accept the following terms.” Normally I click it the way I say “amen” at the end of a prayer I wasn’t fully listening to — automatically, reflexively, without thought. This time, I scrolled down. I kept scrolling. I am still scrolling in my mind.

By page four, I learned that the company can collect data from my microphone “to improve services.” By page twelve, I discovered I had granted them a “perpetual, irrevocable, worldwide license” to content I haven’t created yet. By page thirty-one, I found a clause that I believe — though I am not a lawyer — gives them the right to my likeness “in all media now known or hereafter devised.”

“I have signed covenants with less binding language than this. My marriage vows were three paragraphs. This was forty-seven pages, and unlike my marriage, there is no option for counseling.”

I called my brother, who is an attorney. He said, “Nobody reads those.” I said, “I did.” There was a long pause. He asked if I was okay. I told him I was not sure.

My wife found me at 1 a.m. reading the terms of service for our toaster’s companion app. Yes, the toaster has an app. Yes, the app has terms of service. No, I did not agree to them. I will never agree to anything casually again.

At press time, I had printed the terms and conditions for every app on my phone and was highlighting them with three different colors in a system I have not yet explained to my family.