The other day, I had an appointment at the infectious disease clinic. Don’t panic. I don’t have anything contagious. It seems that, for some reason, this is where the injections for osteoporosis have been assigned for administration. The one thing I really dislike about this office is that there is no one to greet you in the reception area. You must sign in on an impersonal computer and click on the closest reason for why you’re there. If you mess up—oh well. You may or may not ever get seen. In my case, “none of the above” wasn’t an option, so I clicked on IV injection and hoped I could sort things out if and when I saw a living person.

My sign-in caused a bit of a stir in the back. Not because I’d clicked IV injection, but because someone thought Elle Fanning was in the building. What a letdown to find out it was only me. This is not the first time I’ve had an issue with Elle Fanning. For some reason, when I perform a Google search using my name (or attempt to log in to MY website), Google displays the message, “Did you mean Elle Fanning?”

NO! I did NOT mean Elle Fanning? You’d think I’d know who I meant since I am she!

For the record, lest you confuse us, Elle Fanning is younger than most of the clothes in my closet, was famous before she could drive, and is an actress, celebrity, red carpet regular, and probably has someone else Google things for her. Me—I’m a humble writer, musician, wife, mom, and animal wrangler who, when she Googles herself, gets smacked in the face with a flood of news about Elle Fanning. Her latest movie, her Met Gala dress, or what color lipstick she wore to brunch.

Meanwhile, my most recent noteworthy accomplishments were finding a matching pair of socks and remembering what I walked into the kitchen for. Hardly worth mentioning on Google.

Let’s be honest. Elle and I do have some things in common:
• We both have names that confuse Google.
• We’re both female.
• We’ve both been seen in public wearing questionable outfits.

But that’s where the similarities end. One of us is a glowing Hollywood ingénue. The other is me, trying to remember the password to my author website and wondering how long expired yogurt is good for.

It’s gotten to the point that I feel like I need to issue a public service announcement:

Dear Google:
When someone searches for Ellen Fannon, they are most likely looking for the author who writes humorous blogs about lost socks, misbehaving pets, and the mysteries of why teenagers do the strange things they do. Not a Vogue cover girl with a stylist and a skincare routine that costs more than my car.

I am Ellen Fannon. Not Elle Fanning. I’m just a woman with a keyboard, a cat on her lap, and dreams of one day showing up on the first page of her own Google search.

But if I ever DO get a movie deal?

I’m NOT calling Elle. No way is she accidentally getting credit for my work.