Yesterday I unfriended some guy I’ve never met for posting this status update:

“I have to poo.”

Really? Congrats. And goodbye. I took way too much pleasure in the act of deleting him and wondered, for the millionth time, why I (and almost everyone else I know) am glued to Facebook.

Then I remembered a message I got earlier that day, from my friend L.

L. is one of my favorite people from college, but like many old friends, we didn’t stay in touch and lots of years slipped by til we found each other on Facebook. L. lives across the country — happily married with two kids. We keep in touch the way people do on FB, not many direct conversations, more a comment or a like here and there. But I love having her in my life again. Particularly after I got a note written in response to a post I wrote last week about Sophie, Ray and the Memory Game. (Among other things.)

I liked it so much I asked for her permission to share the whole thing, so here it is, with names reduced to first initials:

I really hope you find this funny….I did.

So first, I have to preface the story by telling you that when I was four, my two older sisters (5 and 7 years older) talked me into believing that I had Down syndrome. Of course, in those days, it was Mongoloid. They pulled it off using a Life magazine article about how older women (my mom was 43 when she had me) gave birth to children who were “often” Mongoloid. They pulled it off for almost two years.

I would go to my parents crying, and my parents — heavy on reality, low on sensitivity — would tell me I was ridiculous for believing them and then my sisters would turn it into “that’s because they want you to reach your full potential.” Twisted bitches they were.

Finally, I burst into tears at the pediatrician’s office because I was going to have all sorts of heart problems…if I was indeed Mongoloid…and he called the two bitches in from the waiting room and straightened the whole thing out. Of course, I got into trouble later for believing them. Arg.

OK, so yesterday, at lunch I was reading your blog to [my husband] P. The boys have become huge Sophie fans and so they were listening. It was a stretch for them since they come in 5th out of 5 in races all the time because they inherited their mother’s gene for running, but they could follow along just fine. P. found Ray’s summation of Sophie’s retardation brilliant and we discussed (the memory game enthusiasm) at length. He feels like an example like that would be excellent to use for parents…or maybe not so much.

Anyway, we were both laughing and then when I got to the bit about hanging her ribbon next to your button [that reads "If at first you don't succeed you'll be a loser and a burden on society for the rest of your life"] all four of us were roaring…both boys pointed out that P. and I should get buttons like that.

So, remember that my little one has dyslexia and goes to a school for learning disorders…that is important. So, I’m putting the boys to bed and J., the little one, says “Mommy, I’m worried that I’m retarded.” Of course, I go straight to assuming his brother is brainwashing him since that is what happened to me AND that is what happened last year when J. was diagnosed, and I go straight to “Why do you even listen to C., you know he is just trying to screw with you.”

And J. says, “No Mommy, when we play Concentration (memory game, which is BRUTAL for dyslexics), I get excited at the end too…but mostly because it is over. But also because I get another pair.”

Obviously, you have far more on your plate guiding Sophie through school and life, but you know…it’s really a whole lot like all parents, just more intense, and since it’s you, way more funny!

I actually think L. has the corner on comedic timing, so I take her kind words as a supreme compliment. And I will never unfriend her, even if she does at some point feel the need to share her bowel habits with the world.