its happening to us all

She typed with closed fists, only the index fingers extended and hands held crab like. Pushing down on each key with twice as much force as necessary she slowly and ponderously punched her way through the sign up procedure. It was like watching continental drift, with each tectonic movement requiring a strata of questions for which I was forced to provided the answers.

“Click OK. No left click, not right click. You need to tick that box. Don’t push that. Ok, hit return. It’s the big one, no the other big one.”

Each failure was blamed on me and Bill Gates. Each success attributed to her own fortitude. Finally, in the space of time it took for me to drink three beers, she was finally connected.

“Ah ha!” she declared “Now what do I do?”

“Well, you could upload pictures, or customize your profile, or add friends...”

“Yes, I want to do that.”

We typed in names and wades through pages. It wasn’t only her that was surprised just who was part of facebook. Even Granddad was there, though his profile picture seemed deceptively youthful.

Finally the dreaded moment arrived

“And of course I’ll have to add you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that”

“Why not. We’re friends aren’t we.”

“We’re family mum. It’s completely different.”

“Oh piffle. Why won’t you add me?”

“There are many many compromising photos of me. Many scandalous lies pertaining to my moral character.”

“Well if you don’t do it, then I’ll…tell facebook on you! I’ll report you for abuse!” she clicked around, trying to find the appropriate page, before asking me how to get there. I declined.

“Well then you better get me another voddy from the kitchen!”

I agreed, and helped myself to one while I was there. When I returned I discovered to my horror that she had added all of my friends instead.

“looks like you’re friends like me more than you” she said

“Jokes on you, dearest mama. They have to accept your initiations. And I’ll be damned if I’m letting that happen.”

The next day, my friends had all accepted her.