I called my parents’ home phone while I walking to the subway tonight.
Me (sensing a certain tone, I opted for brevity): Hi!
Mom: I’M NOT HAPPY ABOUT THAT PICTURE YOU POSTED ON FACEBOOK.
(so loud everyone at the intersection of 14th and 2nd in Manhattan looked for the weirdo)
My mother finally saw the picture of her I posted on Facebook Sunday. I didn’t tag her in it so I was curious to see how long it would take for her to see it. She doesn’t like having her photo taken, much less having it out there in the cy-ber-world. She thinks she looks old.
This is the picture.
Forty of my Facebook friends and counting have clicked like. I think she looks fabulous, but as her daughter, I recognize that I’m biased.
When one of Mom’s friends commented on the photo, gushing I knew the jig was up.
I called home again when I got to my apartment.
Mom: I’m on my cell phone with _____. I’ll call you back.
Me: How’d you find out about the photo?
Mom: One of my friends.
And then she hung up on me. She’s not calling back.