I’m a Facebook troll’s wet dream and I love it. I’m the kind of girl who reads the comments more than the article, I love to see what others think, and this has been my downfall. It was a throw away comment on a Trump article that saw me receive some death threats, but then, I digress.
It’s the everyday articles that worry me, amuse me, bother me, the “quick tips on a Caesar salad”, the “how to have great married sex”, the fluffy articles, those that are there to pass the time while we sit on the loo locked away from the sticky hands of the littlest one for five.
The comments on these have me in stitches, but I haven’t always been so hard faced, they have, just last week, had me in tears. Just where have all these bitches being hiding? Is this what people are thinking? Is this what I’d discover if I could read minds? Are all my friends the same?
Suddenly that Chicken Caesar post becomes a flood of angry women, criticising the poster for using too much salt, judging for the brand of frying pan. Labels are shouted out, as the commenters argue between themselves and then, it’s racist, offensive, it’s wrong and we’re all going to burn. What is going on? We’re all turning into trolls.
Behind our little keyboards, we’re taking frustrations out on strangers and even the safest groups, with friendly in the title, have women mocking others for their taste in décor.
I’ve been verbally assaulted many times, from the threats to my children when I revealed we reared our own turkeys for Christmas, to the judgemental comments over my love of painting the house psychedelic. It never ends. It used to be, I’d see the one negative comment, and feel attacked, weakened, defeated. Now, with the help of Constance, I see anger, frustration, I understand it, but I don’t like it, but I laugh, a lot.
I realise I’m a trolls wet dream and if I make them feel a bit better for judging me then so be it, grab this by the teeth and comment on it because I ain’t going to change I am a PROUD:
Divorcee, oh yes, my children have different dads, doesn’t that make you feel better for managing the perfect family?
Mum with a child who still sucks a dummy, she also has milk before bed. She’s my third, I’m relaxed, she’ll take her own time, and while she doesn’t nag me for the occasional smoking habit, I won’t nag about her titties (we named them that to give the mum in law a challenge, nothing beats the sound of a very posh British lady shouting, “where are your titties?”
Child, as for the same reason I named my little pug Willy, and I’ve recently added a Fanny to my family.
Woman who sleeps separately to her husband, and probably why I’m less frustrated than you, the troll, as I don’t want to kill him come the morning for his snoring or leg twitching, in fact I thank him for a great night’s sleep but to you, my marriage is in danger. To me, my husband’s no longer in danger of my fist as I pretend to have a bad dream just to shut him up.
Breadwinner whose husband takes the role of house husband, to you, I’m emasculating him, to me, I’m in control of my career and destiny.
Chubster, my son timed me. It takes me ten minutes to make a tiramisu, and I make a family sized one every week. I love it and I’m not stopping… I also love fruit and veg, but all in moderation eh?
Crazy woman. I’m actually certified bipolar and the trolls absolutely love it. I freaked when I first came out and lost a couple of clients, but my craziness lends itself well to my creative streak, ironically, I’d be quite crap at my job without it.
I’m a trolls wet dream so come and get me, and while you are fighting with your commentary, I’ll adjust my crown and step over the rabble as I hop, skip, jump into town with my friends, without a mind reading device. I’ll believe they’re all queens, like me, and all over the trolls on the comments, as we can see through you princess, right through your screen, you’re not a fellow queen.