by Stefanie Wilder-Taylor
Twitter can bite me. Yeah, I know, I know, get with the social media program or get left behind. It’s not like I don’t have a Twitter account. I do. I got my account about a year or so ago so that I could keep up with the Joneses (if it’s even called the Joneses –seeing as I know no one with the last name Jones and I’m way behind on hip terminology –I still use “phat” as an adjective) but I’m having trouble giving a shit about what anyone tweets or twats or twitters or whatever you call it. Whatever! I’m forty-three, I still refer to my iPod as a Walkman and please don’t bother correcting me, so I’m not going to burden myself with learning the correct twitter lingo.
The thing is, every time I go on twitter, I see the same ten people “talking” and I use the term “talking” loosely about their kids’ poop consistency or color and despite the warning that “this may be TMI” or the slightly self deprecating, LOL after the shit description, I find myself wondering, If it’s too much information, why bring it up?
Really, why talk about anything at all in 140 word increments? But definitely why that?
Am I just getting intolerant in my old age or is talking about your kid’s latest food allergy best saved for a phone chat with a girlfriend or for when you’re fishing for conversation ideas in the produce section of Trader Joe’s with that woman whose name you can’t remember but you vaguely recall your kids went to My Gym together in 2006? Because sure, when you’re confronted with a situation that absolutely begs for small talk then by all means, break out the poop chat, but otherwise, I don’t want to hear it.