Your Facebook Life Doesn't Fool Me So Let's All Be A Little More Real
If you spend much time on Facebook, you’ve probably noticed that all of your “friends” have really fabulous lives, amazing spouses and perfect children. You may have a couple of Charlie Browns, for whom every day is another missed football, but for the most part your feed is filled with snapshots of domestic bliss and familial harmony. Scroll long enough and you’ll be pretty sure your life sucks and that everyone you know is lounging on a tropical island with their feet in the sand.
But let me let you in on a little secret, all your friends are big fat liars.
If you wanna put your best foot forward to the world, alright, knock yourself out, but I’m just sayin’, I’m not buying it for a second. I’ve seen that picture of your perfectly pedicured toes on a backdrop of crystal blue ocean many times. In fact, too many times. There’s no way your cheap ass has sprung for a resort vacation five times in the past two years, and I just saw you this morning in the carpool line looking like warm death. You can’t fool me with your recycled pictures of paradise. You’re hanging out in Middle-American hell with the rest of us.
Here’s some other shit I don’t believe:
That proud parent picture of the incredible Lego creation your little genius built, captioned “How amazing is my little girl? Aren’t Legos the best?!” Remember last week when your amazing little girl left those Legos on the floor and one of them lodged in your foot for the 100th time, and you threatened to throw every damn one of them away? Yeah, you sure loved those Legos then.
The picture of your kid, covered in chocolate, hiding in a closet amid the wrappers of two dozen pieces of Halloween candy, which you cutely captioned, “Oh dear, someone’s going to have a tummy ache.” You must have taken that just before yanking them up by one arm, sending them to their room for three hours, and hiding every piece of candy in the back of the pantry while incoherently yelling about rules and sneaking and eating spinach for a month.
Those flowers your husband sent for “no reason.” Um, didn’t you tell me your birthday last week was met with a startled look and a construction-paper card? Funny how a week of no sex can help a guy find “no reason” to grab a discount bouquet at the A&P.
Speaking of romance, you think I believe that the guy whose regular posts occur only during football games has gone Shakespeare all the sudden? When Mr. You-Call-That-a-Foul suddenly posts a picture of his “super hot wife,” you can be pretty sure scenes from their house last night included the petite-framed wife finding that her husband’s Internet search history included multiple visits to a site called BigFatButts dot com. I mean, I know every guy’s got a spank bank, but that’s just a slap to the ass.
All those amazingly decorated cupcakes sure do impress me, but I’d just love to see the state of your kitchen right now. Oh, and maybe a selfie so I can see the bags under your eyes from staying up until 2 a.m. to finish these, because when the hell else would any normal person have time to make a diorama of the North Pole out of sugar cubes? Also, I’m only about 50-percent sure you didn’t cut and paste that picture from Pinterest to shame us pre-made cupcake moms at the bake sale.
Thank you for sharing all those delicious-looking recipes for slow-cookers filled with creamy chicken and brownies stuffed with candy bars that you “Can’t wait to try!” Bitch, you’ve been on Weight Watchers since ’98. There’s no way on this earth your skinny ass is going to make a crockpot full of cream. But thank you for helping the rest of us outgrow our jeans again this year.
Enough with the bullshit about “how lucky I am to have such a wonderful husband.” It’s sweet maybe once a year on your anniversary, but otherwise it’s “lucky” you haven’t killed him. If you’ve been married for more than five years and can go for entire weeks without a single complaint about your spouse, then I want whatever drugs you’re on. You can love someone and still want to staple things to their head at least three times a week.
Don’t forget the adorable pictures of the kiddies, snuggled up together reading a book. “This just melts my heart. *sigh*” Only 10 minutes before, you jammed your toe running upstairs to the sound of screaming to find one of your little angels pulling the other across the floor by their hair. I’m pretty sure the meltdown that occurred in that moment was anything but heartwarming. Too bad you didn’t have your camera ready for that.
And speaking of pictures, those artfully posed family photos of you smiling adoringly at your little ones as they frolic in the autumn leaves, what a load of picturesque crap. I notice how your son is seated in every shot because he grew two inches overnight and now his only pair of dress pants are too short. And your daughter is wearing a sweater while everyone else has their sleeves rolled up because she spilled chocolate milk (which you told the little brat would happen) on her cream-colored dress on the way to the photoshoot. I bet the five pictures you posted were only ones in the three-hour torture photo session in which everyone was even facing the damn camera! The fact that one kid’s eyes are closed is an artistic choice, naturally. The photographer shared the link to the “Special family I had the privilege to work with,” after she downed a couple of drinks and made an appointment to get her tubes tied.
Maybe some people’s lives really are sunshine and rosebuds, cakes that never fall, and children they don’t occasionally dream about leaving in Walmart.
I do not want to be friends with those people.
I want your temper tantrums and burnt casseroles, and for the love of god, can you post some ugly pictures of your children please?
I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.
Editorial note: The author may be guilty of one or more of the above posts but promises to be more real in the future.
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