Facebook

On early of January, I know everyone else has been doing facebook for years, but I am a slow adapter and have only just joined. People like me become extinct in times of global catastrophe, hindered by our inability to move with the times and adapt to our new circumstances, leaving the gene pool cleansed of our tardy genes.

“You’re not on facebook,” said a friend, almost accusingly as I squashed into the beach tent, with two cappuccinos and a green tea, during the last weekend.

“No,’ I said letting a handful of sand run through my fingers. Signing up to facebook is like inviting Mafia or any pervert in, begging them to tap your telephone and to eavesdrop on your every thought. I like to shroud my life with secrecy and mystery.

However, as I sat under the shade of the tent, sipping the green tea, I began to feel uneasy, left out; everyone was in this facebook club but me. What were they doing there? What were they sharing? My nosiness triumphed my desire to remain aloof and secretive. I joined facebook, and now I spy on my friends, and satisfy my hitherto dormant stalker-like qualities from my armchair. I even indulged in a bit of furtive facebook chatting this morning before I got my skul uniform on.