The world is filled with terrific blogs: there are funny ones and smart ones and insightful ones on every conceivable subject. I hop from one to the next visiting new and unknown bloggers regularly, but I rarely tell them I enjoy their posts. Know why? I’m intimidated by comment boxes.
There’s no childhood trauma I can point to as the cause of this irrational fear, no deep-seated phobia, it’s just a weird aberration that defies explanation.
When faced with a comment box, I’m stricken with brain lock; it’s like being tongue-tied or breaking your pencil. And rare is the day when I feel confident or eloquent enough to dash off a wry, witty comment. Of course, it’s only wry and witty in my head; once I click reply? Clichéd and vapid.
In among the bon mots and casual repartee of others, my remark is a sore thumb. The shy little misfit blushing like a stoplight. Commenting is a talent.
On a recent cruise around the blogosphere, one post triggered a memory, a clever anecdote I could share. I zipped down to the comment box, mentally composing on the way, and popped my cursor right in. At the very last moment, though, my fingers stabbed the back button. I closed my laptop and scurried away for the solace of a Klondike bar.
Hours later, like a criminal, I returned to the scene of the crime. I sneaked back into the post, scrolled as silently as it is possible to scroll, looked left, looked right, clicked Like, and took off. I do that a lot, hit Like. The Like button isn’t as demanding. The word alone, like, is sweet and disarming. I like the Like button, it’s my friend, my enabler.
But the best thing about the Like button? No typos. Almost every comment I’ve left has at least one mistake — and it’s usually a lulu. Why is it I don’t see any errors until the thing is posted, never before? Seriously, that’s not rhetorical.
Well, maybe that’s enough of that. Care to comment?
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