Six words. We say six words all the time. "I can't believe I ate that."..."Stop it or I'll kill you."...Who's making dinner tonight, not me!"..."Feed the damn dog right now!" But the six words I uttered last week have caused a small brush fire.
"I HAVE DECIDED TO LEAVE FACEBOOK."
Who knew those six little, seemingly insignificant words, would cause such a ruckus? Not this red head, thats for sure. Guess how many private messages I recieved from concerned FB citizens? 34. 34 people inquired as to whether my marriage was falling apart. 34 people asked if we were moving...is Jesse (my impossibly sexy husband) demanding I delete my account...if I was making a global statement regarding the death spiral of the American dream or perhaps playing a big fat joke on everyone. Really? I'm leaving FB because it started to get on my ever-lovin nerves...not because I'm launching some clandestine investigation into the true whereabouts of Jimmy Hoffa's body or because I finally discovered where in the world Carmen Sandiego REALLY is. Simply put, I no longer care for FB and how it keeps changing my dern profile.
The thing is, after seeing grown ups discuss partying on the weekend and the eleventy billion "likes" on a post-weekend-headache thread...I'm done. I'm done deleting inappropriate posts from friends and family because one of my daughters might see them. I do good to catch the dog before she throw up/burps water on my kitchen floor. Catching AND deleting a comment about something we did 20 years ago in college...I no longer have the patience for. I'm defrosting chicken. I'm walking by Mt. Laundry and ignoring it. I'm griping about acne. (And let me just say...I have paid my dues. An almost 38 year old should NOT have to deal with pimples.) I'm watching Cars for 427th time just because my son asked me to. I'm cussing the neighborhood kids out because...well...because they're being kids. I'm fixing my hair and putting on lip stick at 7pm so when my husband walks through the door he sees sexy me. And not the me thats been in a coffee stained sweat shirt all day. I AM A BUSY WOMAN! Keeping up with the comings and goings on with FB and chasing down comments is no longer on my life's radar.
So to sum up...no. No I am not going into the witness protection program. No. A marriage counselor was not consulted. No. I am not pregnant and trying to hide it. I still have tons to say about my crazy life. A life that consists of a globe trotting husband nicknamed The Spy because everyone thinks he secretly works for the CIA...three kids 15, 13 and 9...a dog that pukes if she drinks too much (insert funny ha ha here)...a career that involves the music industry, vocal coaching and writing books that get turned down by publishers that smell like cabbage...a life that could easily be a tv show. Nothing ordinary ever happens in our family.
So FB can suck it. I shall drink my Prozac milkshake and be safe in the knowledge that the only inappropriate comments I'll be deleting..are my own.
