Dear Facebook:
It started out so innocently. You were friendly, like a breath of fresh air.
I’d seen you around for ages, but never thought you’d like the low-tech type. I figured you were out of my league. I didn’t want to be laughed at if I tried and failed.
But you kept sending those obvious signals—heck, you wouldn’t leave me alone. “It would be so easy,” you coaxed. “Uncomplicated. No strings. You call the shots.”
Well, I’m only human. After a few false starts, I took the bait--and boom! I fell for you hook, line and cursor.
You heartbreaker.
Just like that, you lured me in. (Did you laugh at how naïve I was?) You introduced me to your pals, brought me into your world, urged me to reconnect with old friends. You even recommended restaurants, movies and TV shows.
Then you revealed your true colors. I thought we were building a life together—but all you wanted was someone to pay your bills. You started bugging me: “Buy this, become a fan of that, give me all your info so I can bombard you with targeted ads. Also, we might use your photo to sell dog food.”
FB, I trusted you. When I was bored, you were there. When I was curious, you were there. When I wanted to stalk George Clooney, you—well, never mind.
We were so good together, it hurts to realize you had an agenda all along. I shared my life with you. I showed you pictures of my dog, my family, my goats. I thought we had a special relationship--just you, me and 1,285 friends. But now the truth is clear. You’re an opportunist. You use people. I don’t think you even know what love is.
Maybe it’s my fault. I couldn’t stay away from you. I made time for you every day, then several times a day, then every hour. And you were always there to welcome me. You made me feel important. Now you expect me to share you with people I don’t even know. How disgusting.
Here’s the bottom line: You don’t really know me. If you did, you’d know I’m not interested in Harry Potter, the Twilight series, Hobby Lobby or Farkle. You’d know I don’t need a link to John Deere tractors or a Colleton County woman who lost 28 pounds in 16 hours.
I don’t care what “Gone With the Wind” character you think I am, or what kind of gun I’d be if I were a gun. (Glock, probably, but that’s not the point.)
I don’t play Farm Town, Mafia Wars or Restaurant City. (Although I took the quiz about what state I should live in. Michigan? As if.)
I’m not interested in online poker, I don’t follow hockey and I didn’t like “Green Acres” the first time around. Backgammon bores me, and Scrabble is too complicated.
I don’t drink Firefly or like pirates. I don’t want to play the “Gilligan’s Island” trivia game, or hit you with a pillow. Enough, already.
For now, I’m hurt and I need room to heal. I need my space. My space…. Hey!
Julie R. Smith, who spends way too much time tapping a keyboard, can be reached at widdleswife@aol.com.