Protecting Privacy

I don't get it. 

All I did was post an absolutely adorable picture of  "someone" on Facebook from about 23 years ago.  

When she was about 1.  And she had a few folds in her thighs.  And a bit of a pudgy pouch.  And a scratch on her cheek, that probably came from my toenail.  

(Don't judge.  Tell me you never played leg-jail with your kids.) 

In an effort to protect her privacy, let's call that someone "Svetlana".

So I posted the picture on Facebook with a comment, "Lou thinks that Svetlana looked like a sumo wrestler in this photo."   

And I tagged her.

Now.  Even though Sveltana lives on the other side of the world in Australia. 

Wait a minute.  I should probably protect Sveltana's privacy. 

Even though Sveltana lives on the other side of the world in Timbuktu, and it was the middle of the damn night in Timbuktu, Svetlana called me within 30 seconds of my posting the of the precious picture.

"Mom, take that down.  Now.  Or I will un-friend you."

"But I've already gotten 3 likes!"

"MOM!  I mean it."

I grudgingly deleted the posting.  I guess it was wrong of me to assume Svetlana would want my friends to see just how stunning she was as a sprout. 

I suppose I must respect her modesty.

I wonder how often Sveltana reads my blog.

The Unfriending

OK. I admit it. I would not have wanted my mother to be my Facebook friend when I was 16 years old.  But it's irrelevant since Al Gore invented the internet long after I was out of high school.

At any rate, I was completely dumbfounded when I noticed that my 16-year-old daughter Linda had unfriended me this afternoon.

"You unfriended me!?!?!"  I said incredulously. "Why would you do that?" 

"I heard you laughing about my status update with Aunt Wendy,"  Linda explained.

"I was not!" I said defensively. "Wendy was laughing about my comment!"

Between us friends, Wendy was telling me that she thought Linda's 'Parents are stupid and annoying' status update was funny, but she found my comment of 'Very nice, Linda'  to be hilarious.

(It's so special when my family's lack of domestic tranquility provides such entertainment across Facebook.)

"I don't want you in my biz-ness,"  Linda proclaimed.

"Your WHAT?"

What business? Has she joined a gang since she unfriended me at noon?  This was getting serious.

"Linda, if you ever expect to do ANYTHING AGAIN IN YOUR LIFETIME, you will accept my friend request."

"Then I'm gonna make that my status update: 'My mom says I can't do anything again in my life if I don't accept her friend request' How pathetic is that?"

"Go ahead! And don't forget to mention that you're out of my will if you don't accept my friend request!"

We had to leave for cake decorating class then. I almost added, "And you can't go with me to cake decorating class unless you accept my friend request," but I remembered that she didn't want to go. Since I was forcing her to take the class with me, I figured the threat would probably not be very effective. We headed for the car.

"Can I drive?"

"Only my Facebook friends can drive my car."

Nothing else was said about the topic.  We had a very pleasant afternoon making flowers (that don't look at all like these flowers) on our vanilla cookies.

I checked my Facebook about an hour ago and discovered that Linda accepted my friend request. She's back in the will.  

Let the stalking begin.