I love social media and in some ways, the new definition of “friend” isn’t all bad. I’m friends with people all over the world and my cyber community grows in happy leaps and bounds and in my imagination, there are virtual cocktail parties and birthday parties and high fives of support and circles of support and prayer when you need them, and….nope, not bad, at all.
Except when someone wants to be “friends” and then I get a picture of their boobs.
Errr…..awkward? What do you say? Gee. They’re very nice. I have my own, thanks. Were you asking for a rating? Did the mention of my husband and kids telegraph a different message? (Which by the way also applies to the men who think “hi! Lets’ video chat!” is also welcome…. ) Bottom Line: I’m not looking for a date, a glance at your “stuff” or anything that involves me wondering how in god’s name I get that off my browsing history…. Okay??
Am I angry at these people? Not really. They make me sad. Those beautiful girls who make themselves less with every posting and every picture, make me sad. The guys who pose and posture and outcurse sailors make me sad. They all look so lost and desperate. And I always think, wow, and here I am writing romances which for this girl/guy is probably like me writing gibberish. It’s as far from their experience as the man on the moon….
I think of Maggie in “Passion Wears Pearls”, lost a little and misguided in seeing herself as a thing of no worth. Maggie haunted me and I want to tell my readers to please look for her in “Obsession Wears Opals” and know that I wouldn’t leave her out in the snow.
So, okay, friends. See you at the next gathering. Clothing is NOT optional.