FFF: FitC Friends on Facebook

Did you know my wee little blog has a wee little Facebook page? I try to remember to update it when I post here on FitC, but more often than not, I forget. The 17 of you who do "Like" me on Facebook are quite possibly the greatest set of 17 people in the entire world and I love you all. You publicly admit to reading my blather and regularly endure frequent mentions of David Bowie's penis. You make a girl proud, you do. I get starry-eyed just thinking of you all. You too, Google Followers. You lot make me want to take up camping, as I am the happiest camper in all of campingdon thanks to your support.

If you haven't liked me on Facebook or followed me via Google or Twitter ... well. Well. I mean, I still love you. I do. Even as I sit and listen to, "You Don't Bring Me Flowers" on repeat. No, no, it's cool. I understand. You're very busy. We can still make this relationship work.

Facebook seems to think your reluctance to liking me has to do with the fact I do not pay them to advertise my wee page. (And not the fact I talk about penises way too much. Or the fact I neglect to update my blog with any real substance for long chunks of time. Or the fact that I don't sell anything or have anything really to offer save for love and entertainment and occasionally a well-written sentence or two.) I don't want to pay Facebook anything more than the hours of time I already devote to them, so there will be no FitC ads popping up in your sidebars, reminding you to like me, anytime soon.

Which is fine all around. Because I honestly don't think I can compete with the genius that is hat-beards (it's a hat ... with a beard) or the Gah!WhatTheHellIsWrongWithYourFeet!? fugshoes.

The only thing that will go fast in those shoes is your dignity.

In Conclusion: I love you please follow me.