The table is set and I have “Symbiotic” by Conundrum playing on the stereo. Expecting a guest, I open the door and Raven pops out of the gloaming. “Why did you unfollow me?” she asks.
“Seriously? I’m having a party right now!”
“I need to know.”
I sigh. “I think I’ve been more than generous, but I can’t take your Twittarhea.”
“How could you—”
“No one cares about your dachshund, or that you ate epic grits or phenomenal pho, or that you bought a pumpkin, or you’re going to see Pandemic, or that your hands look like a cockerel’s comb when they get all quobbled in the bathtub.”
“Everyone knows Norman Bates is a sinister dude in a horror movie, and that there’s a difference between paraffin and bubblegum, and that Trump uses the horrific word “bigly” all the time.”
“Well you could make better use of the 140 character count if you didn’t go on pedantic, ostentatious rants with sesquipedalian words like obstreperous, recalcitrant, extrajudicial, tarantism, or abrogate.”
I gasp, considering myself an exalted Twitter warrior.
“What about all your quixotic tweets?” Raven continues.
“People care about the whale killing in Japan!” I say, triumphant.
“But maybe no one cares about the bandolero you met in Barcelona, and all the other hombres that got flirtatious with you.”
I concede, and seeing my conundrum I invite her in to the party.