So I was thinking about the posthumous biography of my life. I’ve already decided esteemed bloggers Jessica and Heather from here will make the best authors (Harper Lee is not responding to my letters or famous Miss Maudie Lane cakes). And while fretting over global warming and the casting of the new 90210, I’ve also begun to worry about the lack of resources Jessica and Heather will have while penning my story.
The most obvious choice of resources—my journal—will be useless as I am not a consistent, thought-provoking, or even legible journaler. They’d probably stumble upon my large collection of impenetrably folded notes passed among me and my friends in the halls of Central Middle School. Pointless unless they’re interested in the results of our many MASH games or whom I hearted in 6th hour Spanish.
So what will be their muse? What will tell my story? Cue Facebook. In the archives of my profile page they’ll find all they need to know. Music I loved, movies I watched, religions I practiced. They will discover entire wall-to-wall conversations documenting coffee date confirmations, get-well wishes, and a disturbing amount of Jim Gaffigan references. Photo Albums will artifact who I was, where I went, and sadly what I wore.
But your chapter, Relationship Status. O, what a meager portion you will serve the reader. Since Facebook and I met over five years ago, everything else on my profile has been updated regularly. I hope you haven’t felt left out. It’s not my fault. All the other guys are in my jurisdiction, but you’re dependent on so many other factors that whole sections of bookstores are dedicated to you and your plethora of problems.
Fear not. This letter is an announcement, not a lamentation. I bring good tidings of great joy! Static Relationship Status, it’s time for you to spice up your small chapter in the bestselling Life of Amber According to Facebook. It’s time for something new.
Yes, strip free of that SINGLE label and try this one on (drum roll, please): IN A RELATIONSHIP.
Listen, you’ve been holding so tightly to that Single status for almost four years now. Four years. That’s a presidential term! Or more importantly, the amount of time before I see Michael Phelps’ 24 pack in all of its glory flashed repeatedly on my television every night! It’s just too long.
For two of those four years I’ve been in-like with a fella who coincidently is sweet on me, too. You know the story…boy meets girl at church, girl thinks he’s scrawny but secretly hopes he’s interested, he makes no move (“She’s out of my league” he says), she leaves for Africa, as a clueless infatuated boy he sends her diamond earrings for Christmas, she swoons, a Notebook-esque summer in the States follows, she’s off to Africa again, during the Christmas homecoming she freaks and breaks things off with him at iHop the day before she leaves again, he is confused, she’s incommunicado for six months, realizes she was an idiot, he forgives her for being an idiot and admits he’s also an idiot, says she’s as pretty as a sunflower seed.
Textbook. Yep, just what I had in mind when I pictured how I’d change my Relationship Status. Nothing dramatic or confusing or crazy. Just your typical boy meets girl. Girl meets OH MY GOSH WHAT THE HECK ARE WE DOING IN A RELATIONSHIP? CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS? WHAT DO WE DO NOW? ARE WE REQUIRED TO HANG OUT EVERY SATURDAY NIGHT? BECAUSE EVERY SATURDAY NIGHT I LIKE WATCHING OLD MOVIES ON PBS AND YOU DON’T LIKE OLD MOVIES. AND WHY DON’T YOU EVER WEAR FLIP-FLOPS? HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT ORDERING FOR ME AT RESTAURANTS? SHOULD WE START TAKING PICTURES TOGETHER BECAUSE IN 2 YEARS OF KNOWING EACH OTHER WE DON’T HAVE ANY PICTURES TOGETHER!
Yeah, it’s pretty much like that.
And Facebook Relationship Status, or anyone else who doubts the endearing qualities of this new boy (who I’ll affectionately call W), all you need to know is the following conversation we had yesterday via e-mail:
Me to W: Here is something funny I just read in my Cross-Cult. Comm. textbook: “Your second-grade teacher may have asked you to stop throwing rocks at a group of birds. Perhaps the teacher added that the birds were part of a family and were gathering food for their babies. She might have also indicated that birds feel pain just like people. Perhaps 20 years later, you are invited to go quail hunting. You are about to say yes when you remember those words from your teacher and decide not to go.”
W to Me: Wow, I would just shoot the quail in front of my second grade teacher, if she’s even alive.
And that’s how he won my heart. And why I’m changing you, Facebook Relationship Status. Because I could never be prouder to be in a relationship with someone who—despite his aversion to Third Day—unashamedly watched High School Musical with me (twice), brings flowers to the airport, lets me win at Frisbee golf and eat his food without asking, quotes entire dialogues of Big Daddy while grocery shopping, and owns a purple shirt with a dinosaur on it.
And might have a promising future in quail hunting.