So today I, being the awesome grandchild that I am, made sure to call my grandparents to wish them a happy anniversary. While I love speaking to my grandma, I do somewhat dread the inevitable question in regards to my “social life,” i.e. am I dating anyone, i.e a well-off Jew who wants to wed me and start planting seeds in the baby factory? Today however, we skipped right on over the “social life,” and went straight to the feared assumption that if I’m single, does that mean I’m a gay? To be fair, Grandma did think she had some solid evidence. And for that, I blame Mark Zuckerberg.

There once was a time when Facebook was an exclusive little club, collegians only. To get in, one needed a college email address, thus insuring that we kept the rift-raft, unintelligent, and oh, the senior citizens, away. It was during this time when I entered a Facebook marriage with one of my best friends, Andie (a girl). Julie was married to Danielle, Lauren to Jamie. It was all the rage, this silliness of selecting one of your besties to be “married to.” Unless your email address ended with, it was obvious that we were not of marriage age. But now, years later, my Facebook profile hasn’t changed much, but the Facebook world has. It has opened the doors to all and my 90-year old grandma has entered the scene.

With concern in her voice, Grandma told me that she just discovered that I was married to Andie on Facebook. “I called your mom to ask her – there’s no way she had a secret gay wedding and didn’t invite me, did she?” What was more upsetting to her, the fact that I was a lesbian (not that there’s anything wrong with that) or that I didn’t invite her to my underground nuptials, I’m not sure, but this, if not any, is an argument for an age cap on Facebook. If Grandma had just clicked on Andie’s profile, she would see that her picture was of her and her boyfriend, who has so kindly let us remain in our Facebook marriage. Or, if she knew how to find the info section on my profile, she would see that I have “interested in men,” selected. Maybe it would help if I began updating my statuses more, a play by play of my daily life. “Going to pick up my birth control!” or “Excited for my date tonight. It’s with a guy!”

After I assured her that it was just a joke (“I don’t see what’s funny about that”), Grandma expressed concerned that I may be scaring off potential suitors with my false marriage claims. Luckily, I’m not trying to attract a geriatric Facebook user who’s internet is run through their phone line, so I think I’ll be okay. And I promise you Grandma, as soon as I have a boyfriend, I will make sure he friends you right away. Now excuse me, but I’m going to go stalk my male crush on Facebook while blasting “It’s Raining Men” on my ipod.

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