The nice thing about Facebook is being able to connect with people with whom you went to elementary, junior, and high school.
The not-so nice thing about Facebook is when those people start sending you weird, creepy, poorly-written private messages. And then, when you don’t respond, the messages keep coming, each one getting more and more unsettling. You know, like these:
“Use it if you want?”
Whatever, creeper. I’m happily married. More than happily married.
So you can go wait by your phone for me to not call if you want. Or just fall in a hole. Whatevs.
*PS. The phrase “you were always my director for play time” refers (I think) to a class play I directed in Mrs. Bickley’s 5th grade English class. I especially enjoy how she managed to give that sweet memory a gross, icky connotation.