On that deplorable breed of person, the Facebook spy

Sometimes I’ll bump into someone I haven’t seen for a bajilllion years and they’ll say, oh, so how was that seminar/restaurant/school function you attended drunk and I’ll be completely puzzled as to how they can know these details of my life… Until the penny drops. They are spies.

They are that deplorable breed of person who friends you on Facebook and then says nothing ever again so that you completely forget they exist and you post away, assuming your updates are being read by the nice people who can be bothered to lift a finger and comment and share their own stuff, helping you not feel like the only person in the world whose life is an endless play by Beckett.

Oh no – why would they give you that satisfaction? While everyone and their mother is privy to the intimate details of your life, all they’ll give you by means of sharing is a photograph of their cat. It’s just not cool. Facebook is a two-way street, folks. You want to know about other people’s dirty laundry, you need to show some of your own. Shy? Tough titties. Don’t have time? Close your account. Because, for realzies, you’re not playing fair.

I’m not saying everyone has to overshare to the extent of some people (a-hem), but please, for god’s sake, post one picture of yourself taken within the last ten years. You have other people‚Äôs entire lives at your disposal – there is not a single holiday snap or dinner event you can’t look at any time you want. And all you’ll give us is a photo of Snowy? Well, we don’t want to see fucking Snowy.

So, go take a long-armed picture of yourself right this very minute and for every tenth update you read, post a freaking comment. It’s the right thing to do.