Here’s why. I have 2,000 FB friends, most of whom I have never met in person.
On the other hand, only seven, or less, of my real-life friends (those who belong to my generation and with whom I hang out regularly) have email addresses and do Facebook. They are “techno-averse,” euphemism for can’t-follow-instructions.
Unlike them, and with the grace of persistence, I have been able to go through those fine prints, so now I could email, blog, google, yahoo, do Facebook and ppt all I want.
Is that why I have 2,000 friends? No.
Someone recently requested me to add him as friend. Let’s call him Jerry to protect his reputation. I accepted, as I am wont to do with every friend request.
He immediately wrote me a private message: “Thank you. Now we are friends! You married a wonderful man!”
I thought of my husband and reminded myself of what I forget—yes, Tony can be wonderful.
But reading the ending of Jerry’s note, I realized he wasn’t talking about Tony but my 2nd son. “JB and I were classmates in medical school.”
He mistook me for my son’s wife!
I replied, “This is JB’s mom, not his wife. I hope you don’t un-friend me, Jerry, now that you have discovered I am an old hag.”
His apologies were profuse, “Ma’am, I am so, so, so sorry . . . etc. etc. I am really glad we are friends."
So now you know. All my 2,000 friends—except for the seven, or less, who are my real-life friends—are my three sons’ friends, friends of their friends, thinking I am the wife or the sister or the cousin, someone within their age range.
Not bad, not bad at all.
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