Your dear old buddy, Margaret, just called to ask if you would ‘friend’ her on Facebook.
“I would, but I’m not on Facebook,” you said.
“Oh,” she replied. “How come I keep getting friend requests from people I don’t really care about, and everyone I care about I’m already in touch with?”
“That’s why I’m not on Facebook,” you answer, simply.
“I’m going to have to figure out how to get rid of some of these people,” Margaret decides. You can talk like this once you’re over fifty. Once you stare age fifty in the face, you learn to let some things go. You learn who is near and dear to you, and that time is short. You’ve known Margaret for forty years; you get together as much as you can, email and call one another, even though you live in two different states.
“I mean,” she continues, “These constant daily updates are from all of these people that I don’t care about; we just don’t have anything in common. For example, I don’t really care whether or not someone hearts Macy’s furniture.”
“Hmm,” you reply. You had actually sat on a nice Sherrill sofa at Macy’s last week. Maybe she can de-friend her ex-friend and you can hop on Facebook and be-friend them to find out more about their sofa.
“And I just don’t care if someone bought a new pair of pants yesterday,” Margaret sighs.
“What kind of pants?” you ask, perking up. You’ve been searching for a camel pair for years.
“Are you sure you aren’t on Facebook?’ Margaret asks, incredulous. Well, you did hop on and then off, years ago when it first came out. You had two teens then and wanted to make sure it wasn’t crawling with creepy types. As college students, they embraced it fully, and had fun with it. Their daily updates seem to revolve around parties and concerts, rather than sofas and pants. But for folks in your age group, you’ve heard many complaints over the years.
“My old boyfriend looked me up,” Alex confessed lowly one night. You visibly cringed. “Which one?” (God, please don’t say Johnny Mac).
“Johnny Mac.” Oooooh. The original creepy crawler. Reason enough never ever to get on a social networking site.
“I’ll ask my daughter how to de-friend when she gets home from school,” Margaret decides.
“Good luck with it,” you say, and hang up. Maybe you’ll ‘hop back on’ just for a second and see if Macy’s is on Facebook, and while you’re at it check and see who just bought a fresh pair of trousers.
After some Googling, you discover that it is easy to de-friend, you just click on an ominous ‘x’ next to their name. Perhaps for now you won’t social network and post photos, you’ll just stick to safe, anonymous, good old-fashioned Googling.