The internet is a funny thing. It’s allowed us to believe that anything is possible, and to get the news faster than newspapers can print it. Like seriously, I knew about Bruce Jenner having a car accident faster than I ever needed to know that stuff. And I shouldn’t even really know who on earth Bruce Jenner is, but I do. I do. I know too much. I love the internet, but I also find it a soul-sucking, time-waste from time-to-time. And then I fall back in love with it and things are good. Again.
You know those days when you don’t have a minute to spare, but you pop onto Facebook, and you’re clicking things and then more things and then suddenly you’re knee-deep in details about your cousin’s roommate’s new boyfriend and you’re thinking things that you probably don’t even need to know. But then that stuff is in your brain, taking the place of things that you actually should know, like WHERE ON EARTH ARE THE CAR KEYS? OR WHAT SHOULD I MAKE FOR DINNER TONIGHT?
It happens quickly, without you even knowing. It’s your cousin’s birthday, so you pop over to her profile to wish her Happy Birthday, and then you see her roommate left a message too. It’s that roommate that had that wildly crazy dating story, so of course you click over to see if she’s dating and what her relationship status is… and you see the new photo of the boyfriend in the profile… and there you are… stalking someone that you never knew you needed to know about, who you probably will never meet and you’re never going to get those 15 minutes of your life back.
IF ONLY YOU’D JUST SENT A BIRTHDAY CARD INSTEAD.
I’m a sucker for click bait. The stuff that makes you click stuff you didn’t need to know about, but you just can’t resist. Like this one.
I see that and I try to scroll past. And I do, but then I wonder… WHAT IF I NEVER KNOW WHAT RIHANNA LOOKED LIKE AFTERWARDS?
They said, ‘No words’ and that means it’s huge right? BIG.
So I scroll back up and I click. Because I can’t be that mother at school this afternoon who doesn’t know what Rihanna looked like in her after photo. I JUST CAN’T.
So I click. Oops, I already said that. And this is what I see.
Except I have words. What? Am I missing something? Did she just take her hair elastic out?
And there goes another 15 minutes of my life. Imma need therapy. Or an intervention.
And now I can go on with my day, once I find the car keys and figure out what’s for dinner.