So my “sloppy seconds” post went a little viral this week. It was shared many thousands of times on social media (can I just say that I ♥ the vanity counter at the bottom of my posts?) and I got more pageviews in one day than I usually get in two weeks.
It was pretty awesome, watching my stat counter have an identity crisis and think it was Jen‘s stat counter. Lincoln had a fever, though, and was extremely clingy, so aside from occasionally checking my stats and releasing comments, I mostly stayed off the internet for the last two days. I finally got around to reading all the comments on that post last night.
The purpose of my post was not to conduct an experiment in social media, expectation, and reading comprehension, but it certainly functioned as an effective one. Given the provocative title and the criticism of abstinence-only education, I’m guessing that many people read the post expecting an anti-religious, pro-kids-having-sex screed. What’s fascinating is the number of people who responded to the post they were expecting to read, instead of the actual post.
Take this comment, for example: “Elizabeth’s story is sad. You however have chosen to attack people of faith that believe sex was made for the confines of marriage.”
There were plenty who made the opposite assumption as well, and assumed I was gung-ho with the Sexy-Sex and Condoms Sex Ed.
I’ll admit that part of the misconception was my fault. I gave a sharp critique of abstinence-only education and did not offer an alternative. I plan on writing a follow-up about possible alternatives, but I don’t really have an answer to the big sex ed question. More to the point, the issue I brought up in the post is serious enough to merit an entire post (maybe several, maybe a whole book) and I didn’t want to muddy the waters by turning the post into a list of hypothetical alternatives.
Even so, really? I’m attacking religious people? Really?
Honestly, sometimes I wish I could grade comments based on reading comprehension. Usually my commenters are wise and insightful. But on posts that generate lots of social media traffic like this one, this is what I want to do to at least half of the comments:
If you don’t even pay enough attention to realize that the blog you are reading is on the Patheos CATHOLIC Channel and therefore is probably not an anti-religious blog, maybe you should hand over your keys to the internet.
I think my fairy godmother sensed my frustration with the internet, though, because when I went to Whole Foods to get on-sale chuck roasts last night, there were scads of beautiful, dark red, organic cherries on sale for a criminally low price (for Whole Foods, at least). I bought a bag even though it was so not in our budget this week, and I do not regret it. The children were beyond delighted and we’ve spent most of the morning eating ourselves sick on cherries and chasing each other around the kitchen with sticky cherry-juice hands.
Actually we’ve eaten almost all of them already, and I might have to swing by Whole Foods again tomorrow when I go pick up Kassie from the airport to get some more. Even though that would push our grocery budget into self-destruct mode. How irresponsible is it to buy cherries instead of milk for a week? It is fruit, after all. And plus, antioxidants.
Did you catch that? Kassie‘s coming to see me tomorrow! I am so ridiculously excited. I love this girl. She is the best ever. She is going to be here for the female minions’ dance recital tomorrow and they are also ridiculously excited. They worship her because she gave Sienna an old pair of her toe shoes, and because she’s the only other adult they know who will sit down with them and watch 12 Doctor Who episodes in a row.
I wanted to get a picture of us, like all the cool bloggers do when they meet up, but the stupidly accurate digital scale that I had the hideous foresight to buy last month informs me that I gained 12 (freaking TWELVE) pounds during my week-long course of prednisone.
That means I am now only thirteen pounds down from the weight I was at when I GAVE BIRTH TO LINCOLN.
My fat jeans are no longer my fat jeans, once again. They are my “only pants that button” jeans. And I can’t even take a neck-up picture because I have the dreaded corticosteroid moonface.
I hate prednisone. It is absolutely the devil’s medicine. Four months of diligent, daily exercise and smart eating were just almost entirely undone by one week of stupid, evil prednisone.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go cry and feel sorry for myself without the solace of either ice cream or chocolate. This is unfair, unwarranted, gratuitious weight gain, and I can’t waste the opportunity to throw a legitimate pity party.
(Jen, you can totally revoke my disqualification. I could definitely give you a run for your money in the Complaining Olympics right now. Even my thoughts are made up entirely of expletives.)
Speaking of Jen, go and see her for more quick takes, and the explanation for that aside.