Sean once said of Facebook that it's like a big party—full of people you know, mostly a good time, but occasionally you do get stuck in the corner talking to someone you don't like so much. That happened to me a couple days ago, and in an effort to get the conversation out of my head and move onwards, I'll share it here.
A few of my friends (who included my cousin Karla and my daughter-in law Sarah, among others) were commenting back and forth on my wall about restoring old houses and the projects we're working on and/or planning. Twenty-some comments into it, up pops a friend of a friend with this comment, directed at me: "Ah well, Monticello never got finished either, although it is a tad larger." Mind you, there had been no prior conversation among any of us that we'd never finish our houses. And this person is not a fellow old-house owner; in fact, he's never owned a house at all or done any renovation or restoration work that I'm aware of. Ohhhh, I was (as my Grandma would say) madder than a wet hen. I typed back a nasty comment: "I believe that if I had never worked on an old house or even owned a damn house, old or otherwise, that I would keep my ignorant comments to myself." I decided that one was a little mean, so I deleted it without sending it. Then I had another thought: "For your information, unlike Thomas Jefferson I'm working on my house without having to either own another human being or go into so much debt that, were he not the former President and the author of the Constitution, his house and land would've been auctioned on the Courthouse steps." Even though it's true, I deleted that one as well.
Folks, it's been a long week. I was tired and cranky. I heaved a big sigh and, from somewhere deep inside my intellect, managed to come up with a third, more to the point, comment: "Bite me." That one I sent.