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My Facebook Husband

I recently fell out of bed. I rolled right over the edge flat on my face and flat on my poor, already-wretched knees. After finally recovering from the exquisite pain in said knees, I felt exquisite embarrassment, the kind that could be shared only with close friends. So I posted it on Facebook. I have over 400 close friends.

This was my post:

Someone at my husband’s job scolded him for laughing at me. When he came home that night, he was quite vexed.

“I didn’t laugh at you,” he said, vexed.

“Yes, you did,” I said, squirming.

“No, I was very sympathetic and concerned. I asked how you were.”

Then you laughed. You chuckled? You half-smiled?” 

“No.”

“It makes a better story if you laughed,” I said timidly, defending myself.

“The ‘better story’ makes me sound mean,” my husband said.

Coming October 2010

“I think fiction! I talk fiction! I write fiction!” (like Frankenstein’s Monster). “You knew this when you married me!”

“But now your 400 close friends think that I’m mean.”

“I’ll probably say more stuff like this about you,” I confess in advance. “But it’s okay. I won’t really mean them. It’s just to make me entertaining so more people will read me. It’s just my Facebook husband, not my real husband.”

“I’m still vexed.”

Wait till he sees what my blog husband does.

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