It was another Saturday night out with our old friends Barbara and Frank. Frank’s a great guy–if you like garrulous windbags who never stop talking–but he comes as part of a package; my wife is dear friends with his wife, so when we get together the “together” part of their half includes him. Inevitably.
Being friends in real life these days means you’ll likely receive a request to become friends on social media, and so it happened that Frank sent me a friend request–as if I didn’t get enough of him in real life. Did I accept? Well, I sorta kinda had to, or else I’d have to explain to him the uncomfortable fact that he grates on the nerves of more than a few of his wife’s friends–an unpleasant job that I’d rather leave to someone else, like grease-trap cleaning.
We came to that point in the evening when the ladies excused themselves to powder their noses or pluck their eyebrows and there I was, left alone with Frank. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment and then–of course–Frank began to speak.
“Hey, that was a funny thing you wrote on Facebook the other day.”
“Thanks. My wife told me you had, uh, mentioned it to her.”
“I did.”
“You know I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that.”
“About what?”
“About our on-line ‘friendship.’”
“Great to meet you,” Frank said, with the enthusiasm of a sales rep at a trade show. “How do you know this disreputable fellow.”
The Icepick and Joey Pockets bristled more than a little. “Who said he was disreputable?” Joey Pockets asked with an air of menace.
I saw Frank gulp a little before speaking. “I was only, you know–joking. Heh.”
Icepick and Joey Pockets exchanged a knowing glance. “Okay–I guess,” Icepick said with a dubious look.
“We’re members of his crime family,” Joey Pockets said. “You ever heard the word ‘omerta’?”
“Is that an entree at Olive Garden?” Frank asked. Always the jokester, I thought–but he was dripping with flop sweat because neither of my crime family members was laughing.
“No it ain’t,” Icepick said drily. “It’s a vow of silence.”
“Yeah,” Joey Pockets. “As silent as the grave.”
Frank looked at me imploringly, but I wasn’t about to let him off the hook. Not after all the bad puns and fart jokes and stupid political opinions he’d subjected me to over the years.
“Did I . . . say something wrong to somebody?” Frank asked.
“Yeah, you might say that,” Icepick said. “You went and mentioned something he wrote to his wife.”
“On that stupid blog . . . what is it, ‘Gerbil News Network’?”
“There’s 4,000 or so people who read it every day don’t think it’s so stupid,” Joey Pockets said.
“Yeah,” Icepick said. “They turn to it for refreshing takes on topics of the day . . .”
” . . . and family-friendly humor too.”
I watched Frank’s Adam’s Apple slither down his gullet like a rat crawling the length of a downspout.
“Well, I . . . uh . . . didn’t mean anything by it.”
“It don’t matter what you mean,” Icepick said. “A man’s got a right to privacy from his wife.”
“But it’s the internet,” Frank said.
“Oh–so you think ‘it’s on the internet’ is an excuse?” Joey Pockets said.
“Well, yeah, kinda. I mean–it’s out there for everybody to see.”
“Not if he don’t want it to be,” Icepick snapped. “Not if he blocks her to protect her innocence.”
Frank looked at me, but I just gave him my best mob shrug. “Sorry, pal,” I said. “Don’t take it personally, it’s just . . . business.”
“So are you gonna shut the **** up, or is he gonna have to ‘unfriend’ you?”
“Maybe it’s better if we just . . . ended our little friendship,” Frank said with a look of relief.
“Then why’d you marry her?” Frank asked me.
“I like a tough audience.”