Someone sent me a squirrel.
To find out who sent it, Facebook said, I had to send squirrels to sixteen other people. I have a few more than sixteen friends, but I wasn’t sure they wanted squirrels. In fact, I was afraid those outside my family might be offended or, worse yet, think I was trying to attract undue attention. Or, worse than that, think I wanted them to send me a squirrel by return click.
I didn’t want to be unfriended over an unwelcome rodent.
But I wanted to know who sent the squirrel, so I tried to outwit the system. I clicked on three names–teens I thought might like being singled out for the honor–and sent them squirrels. Then I clicked on the link promising to identify my benefactor.
The resulting page pointed out I hadn’t followed instructions. “Sixteen people” means sixteen people, and I was thirteen short. Until I sent squirrels to those thirteen, my squirrel-giver would remain anonymous.
A footnote, however, contained an out. If I didn’t want to bestow squirrels on the majority of my friends list, but wanted to know whence mine came, I could do so by acquiring Giftie Credits.
Curious, I pursued this more attractive option. Curiosity waned when I discovered that Giftie Credits come with a price.
I could get 160 Giftie Credits for ten dollars. Or I could perform certain actions: subscribing to a DVD service would bring me 317 Giftie Credits; participating in a trial of green tea would bring 455 Giftie Credits; ordering a trial something-or-other designed to allay my fear of wearing a bikini this summer would net 380 Giftie Credits. Because I borrow DVDs from the library, don’t care all that much for green tea, and don’t own a bikini, I refused those offers.
The “FREE Slim Seduction Trial”–408 GCs–was interesting but didn’t seem practical so I passed that up as well.
Instead, I slid the cursor up to the toolbar and flew to my very own Facebook Home page, where commerce does not dwell.
When I joined Facebook last month, I intended to keep up with family, friends, and my old paralegal school. I was also interested in making professional contacts. I thought I might get in touch with former students and co-workers. I expected to hear about piano recitals, graduations, and book signings.
I’ll admit I indulged in a few follies. I learned that I’m Katherine Hepburn (tall, straight and slender) and Alexis from Dynasty (fancy clothes and marvelous hats), and that I should be living in Florence. It was fun.
But nobody told me about the squirrels.
And I still don’t know who sent mine.
In fact, I haven’t even seen the little devil. I’m sure he, or she, is as cute as can be, probably a lot like Perri on the cover of the Disney LP I had when I was eight. But I don’t know where he is or where he came from.
I’m not a patient person. I’ve never read the last page of a book first, but I rarely stop before I get there. I don’t like to be left hanging.
In this case, I shall try to hold out. Perhaps waiting it out will wear it out.
But if it doesn’t–if the desire to know becomes unbearable–I may be forced to look into the Slim Seduction Trial. With 408 Giftie Credits, I could send a lot of squirrels.