In the not so distant past I, your future mom, was a social butterfly. (I don't know why the butterfly is considered social, but please just trust me that this is a universally accepted meme, and go with it.) Your mom had scads of friends, and a social engagement or three to attend every weekend. (In my mind) I was ethereal and lovely, witty, enchanting, and a bunch of other convivially superlative adjectives.
In other words, I never met a stranger, and in turn, strangers loved me.
Fast forward 7 years or so.
Now, meeting new people is painful. When I meet people, I find myself standing awkwardly, fidgeting with my rings, stuttering about random things that aren't even true. Mostly. And I'm sure I leave people feeling uneasy, and vaguely questioning whether I ate a lot of paint chips as a kid (Tommy Boy, anyone?).
I wish I had an excuse for this behavior. I want nothing more than to be able to tell you that I had an unfortunate lobotomy experience that resulted in extreme social ineptitude. But I can't. I can't even pinpoint the time of my social (mental?) demise.
I can, however, blame Facebook.
I am convinced that Facebook has turned me into a social doofus, because I just don't know how to relate to people face-to-face anymore. If I don't have time to think up a witty response to a status update, I have nothing.
(Please don't tell my Facebook friends. On Facebook, I can still retain a shred of my formal social glory.)
I fear that I won't even be able to relate to you, my own Future Child, without a blue and white user interface to bond us.
It's cold out here is Social Dweeb Land.
And yes, Future Child, I realize the incredible irony of writing about the tragic loss of my extrovert self on a blog.
Though, I have to say that I'm relieved that you have such a firm grasp on semi-obscure literary devices at such an
P.S. Just to be on the safe side, it's probably best that you never use the Internets at all.