“I’m going to tell you a story, but you have to promise me you won’t put it on Facebook,” says Juanita, who proceeds to tell me about something cute that a relative’s child said/did.
“Uh, what? Why?” I ask.
“Just don’t be putting it on Facebook!” she is pleading with me at this point, and I don’t have the energy to explain that I’m not asking why can’t I put it on Facebook? but why would I want to put it on Facebook?
The easiest way to freak her out (aside from making crawly-spider-movements with your fingers on her neck) is to take her picture and say “Ohmygosh this is so going on Facebook!”
“Nooooooooooooooooooooo!” she howls, until I promise her that I’m kidding.
I’d love to one day ask her to give me a rough mental sketch of what, exactly, she thinks Facebook is. While I will concede that for some, it is a mental dumping ground, I try avoid that. Mostly.
Until I get her to reveal her deep, dark, Facebook fears, I can only assume that she assumes it’s something like this:
the sloppy copy 