I can see it now in my news feed.

“Reid’s mom just blew a kiss at Reid using Super Poke.” 

I imagine my witty sarcastic status updates sprinkled with comments.

“Don’t get down, Reid.  You are very special.”

Thanks mom. My boss will enjoy that one.

There will be comments on photos my friends post, such as those from the work holiday party.

“Reid! Wow! You’re dancing!  You should ask that cute girl that’s next to you out on a date!  Remember, you are very special!” 

Mom, she’s married. 

I’ll be tagged in old family photos I’ve tried to forget.  Like the classic from third grade of me meeting a guy dressed up as Alf.

“Reid was so shy! He wasn’t a real alien, honey!”

I know that, mom. What was real, however, was the smell of vodka permeating from Alf’s eye holes.

Oh, and I’m sure there’ll be the awkward explanation of how wall posts can be seen by everyone.

“Well, your uncle is in jail again. If he calls asking for money, don’t give it to him!”

But even with all that, I’ll be-friend her.  Not because she’s my mom.  No, because I need more Facebook friends.  I just gotta make it to 300 friends!  Just gotta!