“Three things cannot be hidden: the sun, the moon and the truth.”
Hindu Prince Gautama Siddharta, the founder of Buddhism
I’m seriously starting to hate the Internet. Oh, sure many find it useful. Look, even I remember the dark old days when I had to get my celebrity gossip the old-fashioned way—from a weekly subscription to People magazine.
But the Internet has brought with it something called “social media.” I know it’s a fun name. On the one hand it’s “social,” so we can keep in touch with all our friends. And on the other hand it’s “media,” so it’s like everybody is famous–or infamous, depending on your point of view.
But like all good things, social media has a capacity for evil. And I have met that evil firsthand. In fact, I have washed that evil’s underwear and cooked that evil’s breakfast and taught that evil its ABC’s. Yes, that evil has a name. And its name is Junior. I’m telling you, that kid has discovered the rotten core of social media and he is not afraid to use it.
Take a week or so ago, for example. It’s the day after Halloween and I’m feeling a bit rough. Look, it’s very difficult to handle a chocolate hangover at my age. And the night before I’d overindulged. Oh, please, like you didn’t? Um, the whole point of the holiday is to sit around eating your weight in chocolate and pretend to be scared witless by the hordes of Disney princesses coming to the door. Surely I’m not the only one who understands that.
Anyway, I was feeling the sugar low the next morning. So, as I’m sitting on a counter stool, dressed in my comfy pajamas which, thanks to the chocolate I’d eaten the night before were feeling a wee bit snug, I heard a strange noise. And then another noise. And a third one. And I realized that the noise sounded suspiciously like a click.
Specifically, a camera click.
And it was coming from about my butt level, directly behind me. And when I say “behind” I mean it was taking a picture of my butt. Or at least the part visible above my jammies. More of the crescent moon, actually. Yeah, I know. It’s difficult to escape the image of that burned into your retinas, isn’t it?
But what do I do? I whirl around as fast as my sugar-deprived body will move and I scream, “You had better NOT BE TAKING MY PICTURE!” And Junior, with those big, evil brown eyes, looks at me, smiles and says, “Mom, you ate too much candy last night. You’re hearing things.”
Now normally I’m not stupid. Well, not super-stupid at least. But something about that kid makes me think that maybe, possibly I was hearing things. So I go back to what I was doing: rifling through the candy bowl in search of a mini-Snickers bar. And about two hours later, I realize that I am, indeed, super-stupid. Because that’s when I log into my Facebook account and see Junior has posted a new photo. Of. My. Butt. But it got worse. Much worse. For there, under the caption that read “my mom’s butt” was a comment from my loving husband. It read:
“Just say no to crack.”
Did I say loving husband? Obviously, by that I meant the idiot I am chained to for life who will be paying for that comment for years to come. Years. And his payment will be extracted in expensive shoes. Very, very expensive shoes. The American Express card will be smoking by the time I’m finished with him.
Unfortunately, punishing my son won’t be that easy. Frankly, on his allowance he’s lucky to be able to go to the movies with friends, let alone pay for my newly developed expensive shoe revenge. But I’m thinking of a way to get back at him. It just might take me a while.Add me to your rss reader | Become a Fan on Facebook!