I had an identity crisis yesterday. It was the fourth one this week. Online accounts keep questioning if it's really me.

I have the same thought a lot of mornings when I look in the mirror.

The bank insisted I confirm my identity before I could access our account -- all because I made one teeny tiny typo entering the passcode. Flustered and in a hurry, but not one to ever make the same mistake twice, I made a different typo on my next try. I was automatically routed to the three-question "How Good is Your Memory?" game.

Where did you and your spouse first meet?

What was your favorite pureed vegetable as an infant?

What was your great, great, great maternal grandfather's blood type?

I failed that, too. I guess carrots was the wrong answer.

I had to go to the bank in person to unfreeze the account. The teller asked if I had any additional identification. Just so you know, the bank will not accept an appendectomy scar from when you were a child as additional identification.

The verification requests that I don't mind are the ones that ask me to enter a code sent by text or email. I like these. They are good memory tests to see if I can flip between screens and still remember a six-digit number. So far, so good.

The Walmart app recently asked me to verify my identity when I arrived for a grocery pickup order. Seriously? There are 32 pickup spots in the parking lot and I was the only single solitary car out there. It was 7 a.m. and still dark. Yes, it's me. Now please bring out the milk and laundry detergent.

Of course, there's always facial recognition identification that simplifies logging in, but do I want to go down that road? What if I have a good night's sleep (unlikely), the bags under my eyes disappear (virtually impossible), and the app can't recognize me?

What if I decide to have plastic surgery, have everything on my face pulled, tightened, puffed and fluffed, and wind up looking so young that the app doesn't recognize me? That is also highly unlikely, but a woman of a certain age likes to keep her options open.

The only thing I know for sure is that I always experience a wave of panic whenever I see the message: "Failed to verify your identity."

The upside of all this identify verification business is that the CAPTCHA security checks that once required you to click on the all the boxes with power lines, bicycles or traffic lights, now simply ask you to check the "I am not a robot" box. As improved as that is, I still believe that CAPTCHA should be renamed GOTCHA.

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