FAUK ME.

A 21 year old boy turned to me the other night, as I was quietly sipping on my Aperol sour, and began to probe me with questions like 'have you ever fauked anyone?' and 'have you ever been fauked?'

The boy is a friend. 

Before I could reply, he must've noticed my bemused expression as he immediately cleared up the meaning of this 'fauk' word unbeknownst to me. It is a hybrid of Facebook and stalking. Fauking. No, I don't think I have ever been fauked, I replied, but honestly, how am I to know if I've fallen prey to this phenomenon? I suppose I've fauked people - though not in any sinister sort of way - in the 'I really like you and I want to know if you have a girlfriend, pet rabbit, criminal history' sort of way. Or in the 'I hate you because I think you stole my boyfriend and I want to compare myself incessantly to you' sort of way.  I always thought I was a bit of a freak in doing it, but the boy's question proved that we are (Gen Y) a generation of faukers. 

Only just this morning, I sat underneath the shade of a giant branch while having coffee with my lovely friend Kate, when she turned to me, all sparkling innocent eyes, and admitted to fauking. Her admission could've been a scene from Atonement, so full of remorse was she. I assured her that this behaviour wasn't that unusual, that we all do it. Everyone fauks. 

But, while it mightn't be abnormal, is it healthy? Facebook reminds me of the answer to that tiresome question "who would play you in the movie of your life?". You can be anyone you want to be on Facebook - that's the beauty of it. Your photos can be manipulated, your status updates can portray you as hilarious or poignant (even if you're dull and lacklustre), even your 'Places' can make you seem far more exciting and adventurous than you really are. So, hours spent fauking exes, potential romances, that girl who came after you...it all seems a bit pointless, doesn't it? You never know whether you're looking at truth or fiction. 

But I get it. It's an obsession, an addiction. I can only imagine that the cure has something to do with smashing your iPhone into the pavement and deleting your Facebook account. But, we're not going to do that now are we? So, grab a polaroid camera, a picnic basket filled with cheese and wine, and go spend time with your actual friends.

You can check Facebook when you get home.