As Gavin and I are pulled in for impolite hugs and air kisses, all I can do is try and think about what I may or may not have put on Facebook. The fact that I am pretty sure Carter’s mother hated me on sight and his father is too busy ogling my friend’s assets to get my name right doesn’t even touch a nerve. If I had put a picture of my boobs on Facebook, I'd throw myself off of a bridge anyway, so their judgments won’t matter.
Under normal circumstances, I own who I am. I like to have fun and go crazy, occasionally, and when that happens, it usually involves alcohol. I don’t drink and drive and I don’t spend my money on hookers and crack. I don’t waste my paycheck every week filling up entire shopping carts with bottles of Jack like Nicolas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas, and sometimes my shenanigans are broadcast on Facebook either by my own stupidity or by the stupidity of my friends. Typically, this is only slightly embarrassing, and we would all have a good laugh over it for months to come. However, in a moment of insanity a few days ago, I had decided to friend-request Carter’s mother and a few other members of his family on Facebook. I really should be supervised anytime I go near social media. There should be an actual human being whose only job is to sit next to me and say things like, “Do NOT post that,” and “You should seriously consider removing your tag off of that picture,” or “No, dick does not rhyme with delicious, and you are not good at poetry when you’re drunk, contrary to what you’ve been told,” and “That comment sounds a lot better in your head than it will under her picture. And that’s not how you spell cock sucking whore anyway”.
After we conclude a few minutes of small talk, Madelyn and Charles whisk Gavin away and begin spoiling him by letting him order anything he wants on the menu, even if it's five different desserts. I turn to glare at Drew as Carter moves behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.
“Why the hell do I need to check Facebook?” I practically screech at him. “What did you let me do?”
“Well, the word ‘vagina’ may have been used in several posts last night,” Drew informs me seriously. “As well as a few words even I’ve never heard before.”
I can feel Carter’s rumble of laughter as his chest presses up against my back.
“Oh this should be good,” he says absently as he rests his chin on my head.
I shake my head in denial, completely horrified at the fact that I drunk Facebooked last night.
How can he be so calm? God only knows what I did that his mother might have seen.
“No wonder your mother isn’t very impressed by me,” I state.
“Nah, don’t take that personally. Madelyn Ellis was born with a stick up her ass,” Drew reassures me.
“It’s true, she was,” Carter agreed. “And they love you so stop it.”
A few minutes later, Liz, Jim, and my father arrive and after introducing themselves to Carter’s parents, they make their way over to our little group.
“So, I’m guessing since you’re still alive Carter’s mom either hasn’t read her Facebook page yet or she has a really good sense of humor,” Liz says with a laugh.
Oh my God. That’s it! I’m putting an ad out for new friends.
“I should have been nowhere even remotely near Facebook in that condition. What is wrong with you people?!” I yell in a loud whisper so Carter’s parents won’t hear my hysterical breakdown from their table over by the kitchen where they are currently showing Gavin what each utensil is for and how to place the napkin in his lap.
Oh Jesus. They have manners. They have manners and they’re all proper and know which fork to use, and I took a dump on their Facebook page last night.
“You guys let her near the internet when you went out? Jim should especially know better. How many times has she lifted your cell phone and hacked your Facebook page to tell everyone you like to eat baked beans off of hookers?” My dad asks with a chuckle.
“I wouldn’t laugh if I were you, George. I remember when she changed your status to say, ‘Can anyone tell me what it means when your penis has a blue discharge that smells like egg salad?’” Jim reminds him.
“So who let the dip shit near a phone?” my dad questions.
Can you feel the love? Can you? It feels almost like having my toenails ripped out.
“Well, at first we thought we should take her Blackberry away for her own safety and for that of those around her. But when she posted, “Spitters are quitters” on every one of Carter’s cousin’s pictures in her photo album, at that point it was just too funny to put a stop to.” Drew laughs.
Oh fuck me.
I vaguely remember while Carter was up at the bar buying a bottle of wine at the fourth winery, I told everyone the story about how his cousin Katie gave some guy a blow job in college and gagged on his spunk. The very same story she had just told me a few days ago when she accepted my friend request and swore me to secrecy. Yes, I realize this is very personal information to be sharing with an almost-stranger, but we bonded quickly over Facebook email, what can I say? I may have suggested that if I told anyone her deep, dark secret she could shave my head.
Double fuck.
“I really don’t want to hear the story about my cousin that goes along with that, do I?” Carter asks as I crane my neck around to see the grimace on his face.
“Probably not,” I mutter as I look back at Liz.