From the day I was born until about six years ago, I was so skinny that people thought something was wrong with me. Relatives who hadn’t seen me for a while would get this alarmed look when I turned up and insist that I immediately eat the nearest sandwich.
My ears and nose then were clearly designed for someone bigger, and I had one of those teenaged-boy Adam’s apples that looked like something was trying to escape from my throat. In the self-esteem department, I was as lacking as you could imagine. Believe it or not, it’s hard to scrape together much confidence when everyone around you suspects that you have tape worms.
Needless to say, in my youth and on through young adulthood, I was dumped by a lot of girls. Sometimes girls I didn’t even know would dump me. They’d walk up to me in the mall, these strangers in jean skirts, and tell me that it wasn’t me, it was them. It must have been some female instinct, like watching Grey’s Anatomy.
As much as bi-weekly dumpings hurt, I survived the way many of us do, by relying on a vengeful imagination. Sure, I was skinny—practically translucent—but someday I’d fill out. And all those once-beautiful girls who’d rejected me would grow to be morbidly obese, and the men they ended up with would be former star athletes turned balding, temperamental alcoholics. Trapped in their loveless, abusive marriages, they would look at the ceilings of their dilapidated trailers and wonder aloud, “My God, my God, why did I forsake Matt Norman all those years ago? Today he’s a positively dreamy blog writer, and I am filled with soul-crushing regret!”
And then some douche bag invented Facebook.
In the last few months, I’d say 75% of those girls who ruined my youth have looked me up on Facebook to say hello. Sadly, none of them is enormous. Most of them are just as lovely as they were the last time I saw them. There husbands look like nice enough guys, and a few have smiling children with big-wheels and stuffed animals. They’re all disgustingly happy.
So, on behalf of guys like me everywhere, I invite you to suck it, Facebook. And if you look closely, you’ll see the teenaged version of me glaring at you. That’s him right there, in the Stussy t-shirt and high-tops. Yep, he’s giving you the finger. No, he’s not dying! He’s perfectly healthy. And someday, according to his mother, he’s going to be pretty great.