Yes, it’s me. At least I think?
Didn’t I accept your friend request like a decade ago?
You did, yes. But when I was on here checking my Yahoo.com, the computer somehow made another profile for me. How are you, dear?
I’m fine. But how does one even make a whole new profile?
Seriously, how did I? I mean, sure, I always misplace the Post-it where you jotted down my password, leading me to wildly click around until something happens. And yes, I won’t indulge those boxes telling me to click all the busses or fire hydrants because they’re just so darn pushy. And true, I never listen to your computer tutorials because I’m busy thinking you look tired and skinny, so here, let me get you some Triscuits and cheese cubes. But no, I really don’t know. Whole thing’s a mystery.
Maybe you were hacked?
Ya know, I thought about using that, since I heard Hoda say that sometimes happens. But probably best to save that excuse for when I’m “just asking” why certain lives now matter more than others and my kids insist I “fix this, now!”
Why is this new profile pic heavily pixelated, oddly rotated, and surrounded by a “2017 Graduate” frame?
Okay, funniest thing there. When the computer asked for a pic, I knew I already had one. So after I finally found my phone (it was in my purse the whole time! 😆 ), I snapped a shot of the original I found on Google.com and then uploaded that. The little box thingy told me to zoom in, so okay, fine. Now you can only see a quarter of my face and three bangs 😂.
But what frame, love? Do you know my Facebook.com password so I can check?
You know you can always click “Forgot Password,” right?
Where do I find that again? On my Yahoo.com? Is that with or without the http://?
Never mind. I see three of my cousins already accepted this new request?
Yes, but consider on a cousin by cousin basis. Cousin Jeannie’s a people-pleaser, which is how she puts up with Jeff’s grumpiness and toenails. Cousin Kyle, as you remember, is an absolute moron (and looking to settle down, if you know anyone). As for your much older cousin Bruce, from Uncle Sal’s first marriage to that cow Carolyn? Well, that’s actually his third profile to accept my request, so at least two were surely mistakes.
If I don’t accept this new request, will I feel guilty every time you pop up in my “People You May Know” list?
You might, yes. In fact, Sue—you remember my friend Sue, right?—well Sue just forwarded a study suggesting that’s why most relatives end up groaning, “oh for crying out loud!” and just confirming these new requests.
Will this new account also feature one-on-one conversations in which you don’t even tag the intended recipient, or is this the one where you’ll share old family pictures captioned, “Where does the time go?”
No, I’m thinking more along the lines of inspirational quotes printed too largely onto hearts wallpaper, aspirational recipes I share with friends for whom “this has your name on it,” and pictures of items we enjoyed in the 20th century that kids today just wouldn’t understand.
And quiz results, presumably?
You know I can’t resist proving my PEMDAS recall or revealing my celebrity look-alike to be Marilu Henner.
Must you get political on this account too?
Hey! I always preface my opinions with “This isn’t political, but…” and demand anyone who disagrees to “Get off my page!” Wow, Tucker’s right—your generation is too easily triggered.
Have you managed to create multiple profiles on other social platforms as well?
I quote-tweet myself at least four times an afternoon, have LinkedIn profiles for both “Stay At Home Mom” and “Homemaker,” and that book site’s always reminding me that each individual Good Read doesn’t need a new profile. Oh, and Alexa calls me Sheila.
So can’t I just show you how to delete extra accounts?
No, you look like you’re working too much already. Here, let’s get you some Triscuits.