Tag Archives: social media

Why Do Others Know More about Me than I Do?

Google images: christianfunnypictures.com

Google images: christianfunnypictures.com

“Hi Blair!”

“Hi Ed,” I said as I walked through the door of the church.

“Hey, I heard that you have psoriasis on your armpit. How is that working out for you?”

“Ed,” I said. “How do you know I have psoriasis? That’s rather private and heartbreaking!”

“It’s not so private, Blair. Someone posted it on social media!”

Before I reached the sanctuary, two other people had asked about my psoriasis, one person congratulated me on the anniversary of my first prom, and another offered sympathy for my nail fungus.

I tried to forget about my life on Faceslap and the resulting lack of privacy. I settled into the pew and listened to the pastor preach. After he was finished, he said, “We have several prayer requests this week, including the asthma of Martine’s Uncle Joe and the hemorrhoids of Blair Woodcock.”

Time froze. Everyone’s heads swiveled in slow motion as their languid eyes fixed themselves on me. The blood rushed to my face and I couldn’t breath under a hot crashing wave of embarrassment. My mouth went dry. I wanted to melt away into my seat. I would have squirmed, but I was afraid squirming would appear as if I were contending with an itchy symptom.

After the service, church elder Mabel Glutz approached me. “I just so happened to have some Preparation H in my satchel!” she announced gleefully. As I slunk out the door, I heard a few other voices offering me doctor recommendations and home remedies.

I’d go to another church, but social media are interdenominational. I heard there’s a good church service on TV… I might try that next time.

Meanwhile, I need to log on to Chirper to tell my followers about my neighbor’s gastric bypass debacle.


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Auto Text Confusion

Google images

Google images: pixgood.com

My daughter helped me set up my phone so that words I’m texting will automatically correct themselves before I finish typing them. She said that this is known as the “auto-spell” feature. It is supposed to be convenient, but it doesn’t always work that way. I was driving to an appointment the other day, when she texted me:

“Hi, Dad, it’s Rachel.”

I put my cereal bowl on the dashboard and pulled my phone from my pocket. Holding the steering wheel with my elbow, I texted, “Hi, Racer, hover yogurt toddy?”

She texted back, “Dad, turn off your auto-spell. It’s causing problems with your texting skills again.”


“Go to ‘Messages’ and then scroll to ‘Settings’.”

“Oaken. The whittle?”

“Click on ‘Settings’.”

“I’m tryst, but boat not worming becalm my scream keeps goading blanch. Can u leaf me knot how 2 kelp my backlight on for a long shore speck? It offers after an only secondary.”


“I saint, I is tried to got settlers, but mine screen door blackfish, because I donut hole how longer the live cellulite level monastery backlight at is.”


“Or what u ever call itch.”

By this time, my fingers were tired, so I pulled over and stopped the car so I could finish this text conversation.

“Dad,” texted Rachel, “I can’t understand a thing you’re texting. Can you just FaceSlap me now?”

“Actuary no, buzz I’m in the cart gnarly. I while call yo.”

“Why don’t you just call me?”

“Yet, that what I justice say. Let meet gone to mind speech dialysis now. Talk 22 you in a mice.”

“Okay,” texted Rachel, and she signed off.

I hit back, back, back on the keypad and then pressed 5, which is Rachel’s speed-dial number. I heard her phone ringing on the other end.

“Hello, Dad?” said Rachel.

“Yes, hi Rachel. How are you?” I said.

“I’m fine,” said Rachel.

“That’s good,” I said. “What were you texting me about?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to say ‘hi’.”

“Oh, hi.”


“Well, gotta’ go,” said Rachel.

“Okay, bye,” I said.


I pulled back onto the road and continued to eat my cereal. This texting is not what it’s cracked up to be, I said to myself. Then a cop ticketed me for wearing my seatbelt over the wrong shoulder.

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