YOU’RE DUMPED

Sarah-Kate lets a familiar face go

Well, the world certainly doesn’t get less complicated with age, does it? On one hand, there’s the way it’s always been and on the other, there’s the way it should be now. And in the middle is a whole lot of aaarrrggghhh.

I’ve been thinking about this recently with the scandal over handsy former US Vice President Joe Biden. He seems like a nice guy, but he stands too close, is free with his paws, is perhaps just a little bit too kissy and he sniffs hair.

But Joe is 76 years old and in his day, being handsy and sniffy was possibly not such a big deal. I know a few old geezers with personal-space issues myself. And they’re not molesters – they’re decent men

– but they do err towards kissing on the mouth, hugging too tight and touching too much. And much as I adore them and trust them, it’s not right.

But it’s hard to speak out! Instead, I jump away when they approach. Offer a stretched-out hand. Avoid. Avert. Evade.

In a similar situation, I have a friend who every now and then drops a racist clanger. The first time, I kept quiet. The second time, I mumbled, “Oh, um, we don’t really think like that, do we?” The next time, I want to be able to tell her that if she really thinks like that, I’m not sure we can be friends. Because surely she doesn’t really think like that. And if she does, how can she be otherwise so fab?

But will I have the nerve to say anything at all? Like most people, I’m afraid of confrontation. Speaking up means risking a scene, losing a friendship, or embarrassing yourself or someone that you care about. I totally understand why I don’t do it more and neither do a lot of people.

Which is why when you can make a quieter protest, perhaps you should.

To that end, I’ve broken up with Facebook.

To be honest, I was never that much of a fan. I personally think friends should be flesh and blood, and that you can like things – or not – in private. But to begin with, it was nice to stay in touch with pals in other places and be able to engage with people I didn’t know, like readers.

But when Facebook started deciding who would see my posts, and people who were real friends and, in one case, another writer weren’t in that group, I got the pip.

And I hated the ads. And a lot of the comments. And I never felt better after diving into Facebook than I did before.

Then came the horrific tragedy that tore one of our precious communities apart, live footage of which was streamed on Facebook. And Facebook didn’t mind.

I was so proud of our privacy commissioner for his pointed tweets (although don’t get me started on Twitter) calling out Facebook for its role in way too many unspeakable situations.

Enough with the unspeakable situations!

If you want to be my friend, say hi in the street or do an internet search for my email address. But this face is now off the book.