Farmville… Keep It Coming! (Part 2)

 (Save it, Baby! Count me in!)

So, it goes like this . . .

TO GET THINGS STARTED AGAIN, we’ll back track a little or you can get the whole prior part of the story by ******* CLICKING HERE *******

But… Then all my peeps and buds on Facebook started sending me all these gifty things for Farmville…

Who knew?

A Pig here.

A Goat.

Two people even sent me some elephants.

Elephants?

Yeah… like those belong on a farm.

Right.

Guess what they make?

Circus Peanuts.

They make circus peanuts.

Hmmm… I hate to break it to you… but those are awfully large “circus peanuts” that come out of a cute little elephant, if you know what I mean.

And… I wouldn’t recommend eating any of those so-called peanuts, okay?

Eeeeeeuuuw.

It’s just wrong.

Well… I had 82 (eighty-two) gifts sitting on my Home Page of Facebook.

Go figure.

82.

That’s quite a bit, right?

But… remember, I was NEVER going to play Farmville.

I have got no time.

Right.

My son nearly died when I told him that I had DELETED THEM ALL.

Yes, I deleted all 82 gifts.

I mean, what hell am I going to do with a pig that finds truffles, right?

I don’t even freaking like truffles.

Gag.

So, needless the say, “am-scray on the ig-pay.”

Until… my son showed me the Farmville light…

I never deleted any gifts again.

Yes, until my son “showed me the light” of Farmville.

I can here the angels sing like the old Star Trek theme song when I think of the word Farmville, now.

How even sadder is that?

Yeah… not good.

You better call the paramedics now.

But, you better make sure that they bring with them a pig that finds those stinking truffles that I can’t stomach (and now I found out that I don’t have to actually eat the truffles), a duck whose down feathers I can sell, or a horse with a “hair problem” or… I am not letting them through the front door.

Come bearing gifts, baby, or the deadbolt stays locked!

So… my dear son made me RE-announce to my FB friends that he was going to suck it up, and help his lame mother with the starting of her farm, and to please start sending gifts again.

Yeah… please forgive the old bag that she deleted all those fabulous gifts… she didn’t know the value of them then. Please forgive that she wasn’t a FV convert, and start sending us some goods so that we can get our farm thing started…

Please…

Little did I know that I was inviting my first “crack” addiction…

Yeah.

Stupid, I was… please send me stuff… and keep it coming… I need to fill my veins with the stuff.

It looked so innocent, right?

So “neighborly”…

And, in the gifts came.

I got so excited!

My son and I were actually able to communicate with the same glazed monitor-ial stare I used to only attibute to him when he played “Martian Rangers Kill Texas Hold-Em.”

I feel so proud.

So honored.

So in need of FA… (Farmville Anonymous).

“Hello… My name is Belle… (pause)… and, I play…”

“Go ahead honey, you can say it… you’re in a safe and accepting place…”

“Hello… My name is Belle… (pause)… and, I play…FARMVILLE!” WAaaaaah-waa-wahhhhh (me crying).

There is a rumble in the audience. People twisting in their chairs. FA is a tough crowd, man… they have all survived… FARMVILLE! WAaaaaah-waa-wahhhhh (me crying again — can you hear the addiction in that cry?).

Sad, huh?

Sad. Sad. Saaa-aaad.

“It’s okay, Belle. How many times did you go on ‘the game that shall not be named?'”

And, I mutter through my sobs… I turned on my computer… and I never… I never got off!” WAaaaaah-waa-wahhhhh (me crying still more).

My husband and my parents are sitting next to me for moral support… they are shaking their heads…

“We lost her. She’s our only daughter… And, she’s… well, you heard her… gone… to Farmville.”

My dad pulls out a hanky and blows his nose. My mom… suffers in silence. Slight whimpering, her only evidence that she hasn’t fainted… My husband twists his wedding band around his finger… questioning his 2-year old, “I do.”

The tragedy.

Belle…. Lost to Farmville…

….

TO BE CONTINUED…!                  

TO PROCEED TO THE NEXT PART OF THE STORY ******* CLICK HERE *******

Be well,

Belle

  78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award Winner

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
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Save it, Baby! Count me in!