You might think that I’m hoping for news of a desperately needed organ donation.
I’m waiting to see if a woman I’ll call Jane has acknowledged my response to her tweet.
A chubby girl I know posts pictures of herself taken only at certain (aka slimming) angles.
She also instantly detags images that don’t give off the alluring vibe she’s after.
I get all this.
I wasn’t the shy version of unpopular, one of those wallflowers who melts into the scenery.
Nor was I nerdy-unpopular, too good at physics to function on a social level.
I was unpopular because I always managed to say the wrong thing.
I bragged when I should have been humble.
I made sarcastic jokes that didn’t quite land right or, worse, hurt someone’s feelings.
I had an endless capacity for putting my foot in my mouth.
Yes, definitely, but maybe you’ll grow into it.
Sadly, my issues weren’t confined to school.
Over time, I learned the hard way that a sizable group of people would never love my bluntness.
Then Facebook came along, and I realized my time had come with it.
I no longer commit social faux pas.
Why would I, now that I can carefully edit myself before I post?
Each time I bang out, I ask myself, Am I being too sarcastic?
Will this insult someone?
Plus, my quips are consistently clever, and I don’t look half bad, either.
Online, my eyebrows are always tweezed.
And you would die of jealousy if you saw how fun my vacations are.
Drinks with little umbrellas.
And not a scary bathing suit shot in sight.
It’s my life, only better and prettier.
And my efforts have paid off.
Online, I’m drawing a crowd, something I was never able to do in the real world.
Sometimes, I post a status update, and within a few minutes, 20 people respond.
Other times, someone retweets something I’ve said.
Or starts following me on Twitter.
When that happens, I feel ebullientas if my dream guy had asked me to the prom.
Which brings me to my problem with Jane and her penchant for ignoring me.
Out of the 10 or so tweets I’ve sent her, she has responded to exactly one.
Her response made me wonder which was worse: being treated like an annoying child or being ignored.
When these virtual slights happen, I feel 13, not 36.
And no, these aren’t their real names.
It’s bad enough that I still remember this stuff.
The last thing I want to do is let these bitchy girlsknowthat I remember this stuff.
Fast-forward to Jane, who is of course under no obligation to be my friend.
In fact, instead of feeling rejected, I should thank her.
Her online behavior has helped remind me of something essential.
However popular I seem to be on Facebook and Twitter, I’m still me.
In that way, Facebook and Twitter are exactly like real life.
It would be nice if I didn’t care quite so much what others thought of me.
That doesn’t necessarily fall in line with being loved all the time.
So maybe I have to get better at coping with my hurt feelings.
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Photo Credit: Lluis Real/Getty Images
