This letter is in response to a real event, as opposed to something I fabricated so I could have an awesome blog idea.
I originally wrote it for a writing class, but adapted it to make it more blog-friendly.
My husband doesn’t think I should post it, just in case my former Facebook friend reads it and I make an awkward situation…uh…more awkward. I mean, worst case scenario…
…but probably not.
And anyway, my reasoning is: if she didn’t like spoonfuls of Corinne, why would she eat a whole bowl? So here we go.
Dear (former) Facebook friend,
I have to say, I was a little shocked at what you did. My status update was supposed to be funny!
My husband and I were having a conversation about the “Bible math” he performed at the private Christian school you both attended. Rejecting conventional teaching methods, you were taught arithmetic by converting cubits, the measurements used to build Noah’s ark, into feet and inches. I, with my traditional public education, thought this was hilarious. You, however, did not. And by the end of the day, I had been silently, brutally un-friended.
It’s true that we don’t have much in common here on the internet. You post pictures of cuddly, wide-eyed kitties saying adorable things like, “What? It’s MONDAY?!”
I post questions wondering how I might get away with poisoning the kitties who use my front lawn to do their business (don’t worry, I remembered it’s illegal).
You post the type of jokes that sound appropriate with a laugh track. My sense of humor is sarcastic and dry to the point where sometimes I have to explain that I’m kidding.
So I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you don’t find me charming and hilarious. It probably wasn’t the first time you were offended by my snarky attitude towards small town living. Perhaps shooting my comedy bullets at the hollowed institution where you spent so many hours of your childhood “learning” Spanish (without an actual Spanish teacher, of course) or memorizing the names of all the sons Japheth begot (Magog is my favorite) was the final push you needed to get rid of me forever.
Okay, it’s not like you gave up a potential BFF when you finally deleted me. But I really think you should consider re-friending me.
Hear me out. When I first moved to Eastern Oregon, I was wary to reveal my origins. Baker City and Southern California might as well be different countries for all their cultural differences. I rarely hear the word “Californian” spoken without an overtone of disdain.
I realize some of my fellow countrymen came here and failed to use their blinker to signal a turn. They bought houses, remodeled the kitchens, and raised property values. Some of them even wore skirts on top of their jeans.
And while I may not have done those things specifically, I am the girl who used to think people who hunted animals were, from a psychological standpoint, one or two steps away from murdering humans. When I first moved here, I thought Bi-Mart was some type of warehouse-sized sex shop. And I would never, ever be caught wearing one of those camouflage rain coats with graphics of leaves and sticks all over them.
When I try to look at myself from your perspective, I can see that my disdain of small town living might come across as classic Californian snobbery. For that, I am truly sorry.
See, I often feel lost here, living day to day without any hint of the comforting things of home. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the desire to go shopping, take my children to the beach, hang out with my best friend, or spend the holidays with my side of the family.
It’s not that Baker City isn’t as good or as worthy as Southern California. It’s just that it’s not Southern California. So perhaps you have misunderstood my heart behind the sarcasm. Dry-as-a-bone humor is one of my coping skills, helping me deal with the perpetual disorientation of living such an unfamiliar life.
If I haven’t convinced you yet, consider this: we share 7.16 square miles of geographic space on this earth. “Seeing” me on Facebook is one thing; seeing me in person is quite another. My face, my eyes, my expressions and reactions – none of those things can be properly replicated over the internet.
Perhaps if the offending post had been spoken during a conversation instead of typed and on your News Feed, you may not have taken it so personally. But since what’s done is done, let’s consider the fact that neither one of us will be able to hide behind our computer screens when we inevitably run into each other at Safeway, Bi-Mart, or even (gasp!) the House of the Lord.
If these reasons haven’t convinced you then at least do it for my husband. It was him, after all, who introduced me to the joys of Bible-based math. And it was him who brought me here in the first place: a snobby, sarcastic girl with a skirt on over her jeans, who just wants to be your online buddy.