Of course, the semi-annual celebration held in your honor on the account requires a photo of you. Your semi-sarcastic but not actually sarcastic but therefore truly sarcastic black and white wedding candid on the dance floor can only be retweeted so many times before it loses its charm. The problem lies here. What should your expression be?
Despite your many personal and professional accomplishments, you ended up being the husband on Instagram (the man who married a lady – yes – has 150,000 followers and counting), and that’s not you ‘s fault. You are just a victim of the times! You certainly don’t want to undermine her interests. But there are signals that need to be completed. You don’t look like you’re going to like this. Because you really aren’t. Or maybe you are.
The truth is, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to row a boat, eat abroad, saw wood, carry a child on your back, put your feet next to a fire (“Low a small fire!”) or fall asleep on the couch with your dog. Capture it for the account. Patience–joyful endurance–seems like an expressive thing, so you do it, lips pursed, eyes showing a look of tolerance that says, “I know you know I know,” but never in any way. Way to destruction. A look of embarrassment at being rich; ok, you got me; noblesse oblige; #ihavearealjob; hands tied; everyone’s doing it; what should I do, say no?
The beast moved on. Funny thing is, she’s not alone anymore! People love you! They want you to open your own account. They crave more spin-offs. “Charles is in charge!” they pleaded. “Jerry World, please!” Belting Gardens. Chateaudav. timisan alcohol. Arankan pickles. Or create a joint account with your dog! “I have to ask him!” she would comment demurely (presumably referring to you, not the dog). It’s so flattering.
Two years later, you face the Rubicon. The path forward leads to eternal glory. It seems boring to retreat in the name of increasingly vague principles such as “privacy” and “living a real life away from social media”. You took a deep breath and straightened your shoulders. And try to ignore the surprise in your dog’s eyes when you yell, “Honey!” I’m going downtown to pick up some tiki torches, D batteries, and a wind machine! Don’t move!
