Twitter Babe on the Prowl
I did it again. I caved in. I went against my better judgment and set myself up for a lifetime of ruing the day I did what I’m about to share with you.
I let my daughter have a Twitter account.
“Daddy, oh please can I have a Twitter account?”
“But Daddy I really want one.”
“No, but why?”
“Because a girl I met at church camp has a Twitter account and I want to be able to talk to her.”
I said, “No. Where? Church camp? Why isn’t she on Facebook? I let you sign up for Facebook.”
Letting my daughter have a Facebook account was my first mistake.
“I don’t know why she isn’t on Facebook, but she’s on Twitter. So can I?”
“She doesn’t do Facebook? Probably her parents are smarter than me and didn’t ALLOW their precious daughter to get on that nasty thing.”
“But Daddy,” she said, “you’re on Facebook and Twitter, why can’t I be?”
Really fat pregnant pause.
“Because you’re not 18.”
Jaw drop. Hers, not mine.
“Eighteen? Are you serious?”
“Okay, you can have one when you’re 17, but that’s as low as I go. Why don’t you just text her?”
Letting my daughter have a cellphone with unlimited texting was my second mistake.
“Please Daddy? Pretty please?”
Pouty face. Again, hers, not mine.
“Let me think about it,” I said.
Face of resignation and defeat. Mine, not hers.
Five minutes later, I helped her sign up for a Twitter account.
Why, oh why, do I keep creating problems for myself?
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