I just got a ‘friend invitation’ from someone I don’t know on Facebook who has 872 friends. Some collection huh? Beats my mom’s collection of old newspaper recipes since 1958.
Anyway, I’m sorry, it’s a no. I’m not a collector’s item – but I could put you onto my Ma, if you’d like.
So here’s a list of my own :
If you’re my friend, you gotta earn it, dude (And never call me that) ! Meet over a coupla coffees (and spare me the lecture on my 3 sugars), have a few earth-shattering fights (over an issue you can’t even spell when you’re sober), rush me to hospital after bad prawn curry with me puking all over the back seat of your car, sock someone in the eye because he called me a bad word (something only you can do!), let me fix you up with a blind date and threaten to kill me later.
Do 872 people actually know your deepest darkest fears, like the chicken kabab on your plate may suddenly come to life?
When I change my status line on Facebook, only those who know me will say “Jane has now changed her status to “Jane is a raving lunatic” but hey- isn’t that what she always was?”
My apologies to the 872 – or now 871er ! Put it down to a bad case of Sour Grapes, ok?
And hellooooooo there to my good many good friends on Facebook, and out of it. And a few who are almost there! But first I’ve got to find out if they’re worthy – or rather if the backseat of their car is puke-worthy !