HUMOR ME

Getting the Young Women of Facebook With Big Boobs and Bigger Smiles to Leave You Alone

Nothing I’ve tried has worked

They’re after me.

Those impossibly beautiful, inappropriately young, smiling, heavily filtered women of Facebook.

Try as I might, they won’t leave me alone.

Each day one or two of them perkily pop up just begging to be accepted as my friend.

Early on I succumbed.

I figured thusly … I’m a writer, they must be writers too, so much the finer that they’re cute, writers can be cute too.

But boy was I wrong … not that writers can’t be cute, I’m sure some are.

In fact, one of my newest Medium crushes is the self-described as “beloved” Hogan Torah. Yeah, yeah, I know he’s loved for his verbiage not his cleavage, but you understand I’m sure. What’s not to love about a happenin’ dude with a million stories to tell and a face bush rivaling that of a Hasidic Paul Bunyon.

Then, just to keep it balanced, there’s the egg-ceptional Lucy Dan 蛋小姐 (she/her/她) possessor of the sweetest avi ever and billions of tasty stories about all kinds of things from food to the moon and back.

But I digress.

Back to the pulchritudinous multitudes clogging up my Facebook page.

As I mentioned, early on, in my days of naivete I did respond.

Then it began.

“Hey” or “Hi, what are you doing right now?” was the usual opening gambit.

Sometimes it was “Hay, how is it were your are?”

The latter was always a bit suspicious because what writer writes like that even if they’re furiously pounding the keyboard trying to make a professional seemly connection with a fellow author?

But again — early on — I’d respond, usually with something pretty basic, like “Hi” or “Hi, I’m fine, HBU?”

Then the onslaught would begin.

“How u doing?”

“How old are you?”

“Are you married?”

“How many chilreen dough you have?”

etc. etc. and more etc. (or yada, yada, yada if you prefer)

So, I switched it up a bit.

I’d write “I see from your profile that you’re a twice-divorced and desperately lonely orthopedic surgeon and former fighter pilot. That’s quite a set of accomplishments for a woman born several years after Kylie Jenner.”

or

“How do you say ‘cat fishing’ in Serbian?”

or

“Is your babushka proud of how you spend your time?”

And still they kept coming.

So I tried, the “let ’em down easy” approach.

“We’ll likely fall in love you know.” I’d write.

Then the feverish reply would come flying in.

“Yes dahling, do go on.” My siren would sing.

“And have lots of lovely children scampering delightedly about our happy home in no time at all.”

“Yes, YES. Say more my sweet.” I could almost hear the clattering of the keyboard.

“But then you’d come to find I think it’s acceptable to load coffee cups in the bottom tray of the dishwasher and you’d fall out of love with me and our lives would be forever ruined.”

Surprisingly, even the specter of this horror had no dampening effect.

Conversations continued until I signed off and remained mute … for days.

So, now I just press, “decline” “delete” and “block” and move on to accepting more average appearing folks as writer friends on Facebook. That seems to be working out well. Next stop … no FB.

My apologies to the 10 outta 10’s out there who also write and wanna hook up. Please come find me on Tinder or Grindr or IG or Ticky Tack or “whateverer”. Let’s make a soul connection there. BFN.

BTW — this story is dying for the “female version” to be written. Make it funny and link it to this. I’ll do the same for you once I see your story “in print.”