It’s kind of spooky just how perceptive Facebook has become about my personality.
The choice of articles, memes and funny/cute dog videos that flood my homepage each day accurately paint a picture of my character (and all its flaws), as well as pander to my quirks and interests far more intuitively than the old man ever has.
For the man I have shared my life with for thirty years still cannot determine between mine and my daughter’s knickers when he sorts the laundry, nor can he remember that I like weak tea and strong coffee. Yet Facebook unfailingly remembers my birthday, reminds me of the birthdays of the important people in my life, helpfully sends me adverts for clothes for the more mature woman, the latest diet crazes and advice on how to cope with a child with ADHD.
Facebook knows that I have an insatiable appetite for any article about mental health issues – particularly in the areas of ADHD and anxiety; it also knows that I have a weakness for wine which looks after my own mental health issues.
It knows that I am prone to obsessing about healthy eating and dieting, yet am happy to forgo the latest fad diet for the ‘ultimate’ chocolate brownie recipe, and that although I am concerned about how much alcohol I drink and will do anything to increase the longevity of my life, I am a strict practitioner of ‘living life in the moment’.
Facebook has surmised that I am a bit porky and more and more conscious of it, that I am middle-aged and suffer from mood swings, (in fact the full smorgasbord of menopause symptoms), and am well on the way to becoming a candidate for Tena pads. I’m not certain from where the articles on how to improve my sex life emanate, when that ceased to be a priority a while ago, but apparently I also have an interest in lube and vibrators.
Obviously, what I thought was a secret obsession with Chris Hemsworth is not so secret at FB Headquarters and prompts many articles about the habits of the middle-aged cougar. I expect to be notified whenever a Hemsworth brother pees. In fact nothing is secret on Facebook, which is why sometimes I choose not to allow my curiosity to get the better of me and click on those articles that may well momentarily intrigue me but which I’m aware could lead to repercussions in the future – I don’t want some employer knowing that I have shown an interest in penis size, lesbian sex or suicide – all of which are obviously topics that I’ve needed to research for my book.
Facebook knows I like a good laugh, sometimes at my own expense but especially at the expense of others. It has surmised that I have a serious hang up about being a bad mother, that my kids are my world and hence ‘entitled’, and that I am immature for my age.
For some very strange reason it believes it is doing me a favour by suggesting my clients and psychologist as future friends.
If only the old man had as much insight.