Stirring Memories Through Facebook, Part III

Dear Football Head,

You didn't know we called you that, did you?  Yep, that and a lot of other names.  We called you Football Head because your head was, well, shaped like a football.  Your hair was so thin the shape of your head was way too obvious. 

But I'm not here to tell you about the names we called you.  I'm here to tell you...I know. 

Cruising through Facebook the other day shed light on a very real possibility - a possibility that burned me up today as much as it would have had I figured it out twenty-five years ago.

I'm not saying my suspicions are true, but you've got a history. 

I was looking through your list of friends on Facebook and saw all the boinks you had throughout our friendship.  Why they decided to befriend you now is beyond me, unless you're still boinking them, which totally wouldn't shock me.  When I knew you you lived to boink, because for you boinking is validation.  You boinked your friends' boyfriends, you boinked your own boyfriends, you boinked your boyfriends' friends when your boyfriend wasn't looking.  For God's sake, the day your dad killed himself you didn't want the consolation of your best friend (me), you chose instead to hunt down the first guy who would boink you. 

So I was scrolling through your list of friends which consists of your boinks, your boinks' wives, your boinks' kids.  Suddenly I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach.  There, included in the list was Al.

You boinked him too, didn't you?

Oh, I know I shouldn't care.  Except the only thing you two had in common was me.  And plus I think you should know he thought you were dumb as a post and quite hideous.  He never liked you, which is why we ditched you in San Francisco that one time.  If I remember correctly you didn't like him much either.  And yet now you are Facebook Friends.  WTF?  What happened?  Has Facebook become your proverbial belt and those friends your notches?

You'd think after two husbands you could have figured out where you went wrong.  Horribly, horribly wrong.  But no.  As long as their faces are on your friend list, you still believe it's you they love and desire.  Sadly, you never latched onto the concept that men will stick their weenies into anything that won't clamp it off.  That would be you.  Not a clamping kind of gal.  In fact, the Grand Canyon is probably second to you.