Sunday Independent (Ireland) - Life - - SOCIAL NETWORK -

There is an ob­vi­ous con­tra­dic­tion here. Face­book is the main rea­son you don’t go out and meet peo­ple any more. And even when you do, their phone is out ev­ery five min­utes, so they can post a photo of their lunch. But Face­book has one thing go­ing for it. Peo­ple you vaguely knew in col­lege. We call it PYVKIC.

You will get a lot of friend re­quests from PYVKICs. You will re­ject most of them. That’s OK. We un­der­stand why you don’t want to meet up with Dessie again. The last time you saw Dessie, he was wear­ing a tutu in a kitchen in Harold’s Cross, singing along to ‘ I’m horny, horny, horny, horny’. We’re all try­ing to put that be­hind us now. Es­pe­cially Dessie.

Just like you, he has prob­a­bly lost con­tact with a group of peo­ple who were once known as ‘the lads’. As Dessie was brows­ing through Face­book one night, over­come with nos­tal­gia and cheap Shi­raz, the so­cial-net­work site sug­gested your name as some­one he might know, so he fired off a friend re­quest.

And you ig­nored him. This is crazy. You shared some of the key mo­ments in your life with Dessie and PYVKICs. There is ev­ery chance you lost your vir­gin­ity to one of them. (If only you could re­mem­ber which one. Things got so hazy af­ter the fresh­ers’ ball.) The PYVKICs know where all your exes ended up. They know what re­ally hap­pened that time Mon­ica spent three hours in the pro­fes­sor’s of­fice. (The ru­mours were true, and then some.)

So go on. It’s time to put the past be­hind you and say yes to Dessie. Ar­range to meet him for a drink, at least. You walk into that pub and recog­nise him im­me­di­ately. Mainly be­cause he is up on the bar shout­ing his way through Come on Eileen. Je­sus, Dessie, things haven’t been the same with­out you.

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