I am not a bright person; this is no secret. So if there are two people on my Facebook friend’s list with nearly identical names—and by that I mean same first names and oh-so-goddamn-similar last names—it would be easy to assume I would confuse the two.
The other month, a woman popped up in my “Hey, it’s your friend’s birthday!” feed. So, after a glance, I quickly surmised it was the fitness instructor whose classes I like to attend. As one might expect out of a fitness instructor, she’s muscular from top to bottom, with rips and cuts aplenty to flaunt. It was Wednesday, her day to teach Body Attack, so I scribbled a little ditty on her wall: “Happy Birthday! In honor of your special day, I’m skipping the gym tonight and going out to eat pizza and get fat, just for you!”
Get it? It’s a joke; she’s a fitness instructor, and I was going to skip her class to eat unhealthy food! Ha-ha!
A few weeks later, I received another notice for my fitness instructor friend from that lovely birthday monitoring service, Facebook. Confused, I went to her wall and wrote, “Didn’t I just wish you a happy birthday? Geez, how many do you need a year?”
And that was that.
For about an hour.
Until my mind started putting together the pieces of the puzzle, and I decided to go scroll down some other profile walls.
My “Pizza and get fat” comment was nowhere to be found on the fitness instructor’s profile, so…
…Where was it?
Turns out, I had left the comment on the OTHER woman’s wall, the one whose name is two letters different from the fitness instructor. A woman who was, as chance would have it, a little larger than your average woman, but probably right in line with a legal resident of Mississippi.
That’s right, I went to the profile of a woman who was overweight and told her I was going to get fat in her honor.
I’m like a male Sarah Palin or Michelle Bachmann, what with the idiotic vomit that pours out of my mouth.
Well, I suppose that’s what people get when they use avatars instead of personal pictures to represent themselves.