When you friended me on Facebook, I was privately filled with dread. While I rarely post anything on that site, the idea of you looking over my cyber shoulder was nonetheless disturbing. Still, for the good of the family, I friended you back and did my best to notice the photos you posted and make positive comments when I felt I could do so without compromising my integrity.
However, your behaviour over the past two weeks has been atrocious. When I posted photos of my wedding dress last week, I did it to share with the people who had attended our wedding. You were there, don't you remember? The Matron of Honor who laughed and played dress-up with our aunt's mink coat rather than help us with our pictures? Yeah. You.
I was standing next to Mom when she took your phone call on Thanksgiving Day. How you snipped and sneered into the phone asking why I took pictures in my wedding gown. Demanding to know if eight years was some kind of special Swedish holiday. As if the photos of your niece and nephew weren't enough to answer that question. I suppose that would mean actually paying attention to them.
I'm not surprised that you didn't leave any anniversary well-wishes. I mean, hell, you were only part of the wedding party. Damn you for making me right. Fuck you for not proving me wrong.
I might have let that slide save for the phone call I received last night. I rarely ever make any political statements in front of the family. It doesn't take a genius to know where I stand on certain issues, but yesterday I stumbled across a satirical site that had me pissing myself with laughter. In an uncharacteristic move, I became a fan. I didn't republish the headline. I didn't comment on it. I merely clicked a link.
Then, Dad called. He called me at 9 o'clock at night telling me that you had called him in tears because you had seen my Facebook page. You had followed the link and read about a petition for a divorce ban in California. That because you were divorced how insensitive I was, and you couldn't believe how terrible I was to support a movement that proclaims Jesus doesn't love you because you are divorced.
First of all, if you had been paying attention you would have seen that it actually reads Jesus does love you, just not as much.
But let me see if I understand this: You are a 33 year-old married woman with a child, who sees something you find confusing and opposed to the ideologies you believed I had. Instead of calling me to for an explanation, you called our father and cried to him on the phone? What did you think he was going to do? Reach through the phone and slap me?
Obviously your career as a public school Language Arts teacher has left you with a glaring gap in your vocabulary. The word is satire. Look it up.
I feel the sheer ridiculous nature of these two events leaves me no choice but to remove you from my account. The fact that you are family no longer qualifies you to have access to me via any social networking site. I would not tolerate that behaviour from any other person and frankly, I've enabled you enough. If
hell freezes over you happen to call me, Satan gives free sleigh rides act like an adult and the Styx is open for skinny-dipping want to have a reasonable sibling relationship I am willing. Until then, I am done.
You will heretofore be referred to as my husband's sister-in-law.
The Lonely Only Who Needs to Be NATUI In Her Real Life
Thursday, December 3, 2009