I, take you, Facebook, to be my nosy, bothersome partner. To have and to hold you open on my iPhone during poetry class or family dinners or a friend’s confessional, from this day forward, until battery death do us part.
To hold you affectionately in the morning as I emerge from the covers, seeking the companionship of a baby sloth video or a picture of a high school acquaintance clad in a “slutty pirate” costume. I promise to search for universal truths in your endless scroll, passing the play by plays of the Red Sox game and the “I love poop” statuses until resigning to the idea that those may in fact, be our new truths.
For better or for worse, I will procure you a new banner to wear upon your virtual forehead, like a bandana of blatant individuality. Expect a pile of puppies or a “Stay Calm and Carry On” quote or a mushy couple-kissing-in-front-of-Eiffel-tower shot.
In sickness, I promise to reference you for unexpected aid, hoping someone will have a naturopathic remedy for strep throat or a recommendation for a softer brand of tissue. In health, I will take a picture of my running shoes, just so you know I’m serious about that half-marathon I signed up for.
For richer, I will exclaim about my successes to you and your followers, posting close-ups of my 14 karat engagement ring or asking for good luck on my job interview. For poorer, I will post a snapshot of my dinner of Top Raman and hash tag it as “#dinnerdoneright” and “#pleasegodsomeonehireme.”
My dear, I promise to love and cherish your lightning fast information dissemination, waste time on your feed, disapprove of your consistent misspellings, cheat on you with Pinterest, periodically deactivate, and frantically reactivate you, for as long as we both shall live.