It seems that personal relationships are getting more and more complicated these days. I hate to date myself, but didn’t things used to be a lot less convoluted? See, I just checked my email and found this note:
Anna has updated her relationship status to say that you two are in a complicated relationship.
Please confirm this relationship status:
Once confirmed, this information will appear on both of your profiles.
The Facebook Team
If Anna Fonte (no accent over the e, aka “girl in the hat,” the one who has lots of Facebook friends and calls herself a writer) wants to come out of the closet and declare our relationship to her world, that’s fine with me. When it comes to relationships, the more, the merrier, I say, even if they’re imaginary. See, my name is Anna Fonté, with an accent over the e. I’m a mother of two and really have no business fooling around on my computer for hours when I should be raising my kids. So I invented the other Anna Fonte to do it for me.
The only real problem I have with this is in the last line of the email that says our relationship will appear on both of our profiles. See, I happen to be married to a very nice guy named John whom I’ve been smooching for the last nineteen years and I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon. I sit with my finger poised: If I click on the link to confirm, what will happen to John? What will happen to our two lovely children?
So, before I let my finger fall, I pause to ask myself why.
“Well, I wanted to be in a relationship with Earl Grey, but he never responded to my request,” says Anna Fonte, the writer. “Earl Grey rocks my world.”
I say, “I just don’t know if I’m ready for this. Couldn’t we just keep everything separate?”
“So you’re just going to pretend that you don’t even know me? What’re you afraid of? Besides, I’m not imaginary, I’m imaginative. Hello. Don’t you get it? I thought you went to college.”
I’ve got to admit, that Anna Fonte has a point. I double-click the hypertext and we’re rushing through the ether toward a virtual linking I never dreamed possible.
I hear footsteps in the hall. John pokes his very nice head in the door. “We’re all sitting at the dinner table, wondering where you are. Care to join us?”
And I blush like someone who has been caught with her hand in her pants.
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