To my potential love interest,
Favorite my tweets, like my Instagrams, comment on my status, inbox me, message me, text me, oh hell, even “poke” me, but please DO NOT Snapchat me. I want to connect with you all over social media, but Snapchat is a commitment I just don’t think I can make.
Firstly, I consider Snapchat the lowest form of communication. A maximum of 31 characters to send over Snapchat allows for only the most basic conversations. And if I can’t send you verbose love poems to express my affection, are we really communicating at all?
Typically, I only use Snapchat to send double chin selfies to my girlfriends, anyway. If things are really moving along between us and you somehow make it onto my “Best Friends List,” there is a very good chance that in my rush to send off a stunningly grotesque selfie to my girlfriends, I might accidentally include you as a recipient, too.
Snapchat also provides the equivalent of read receipts on iMessage and Facebook by indicating when you have opened my snap. This is an acute source of anxiety for me. There are countless reasons why you didn’t respond: you don’t like me, I’m annoying you, you are completely in love with me but you were hit by a bus the second after you opened my adorable snap (maybe you could reply from the ambulance though, just to be conscientious of my unyielding need for reassurance).
The read receipt issue is a two way street, however, since you can see how long ago I opened your snap, too. And if it has taken me more than a minute to reply, it’s probably because I don’t currently look like Aphrodite incarnate. The face you see when I go out is very different from my “2 am doing homework in my dorm room” look. Listen, cutie, I really do want to respond to your seemingly effortless selfie, but it’s going to take me a while before I stop looking like I just came off the set of the Walking Dead. This leaves me with a few desperate options. I could put on some makeup, but that’s really more effort than it’s worth. I could spend 10 minutes trying to find repose from the unnerving fluorescent dorm lighting, which is more than unlikely. I could also try to find a good selfie angle, but that usually ends with the ultimate shame of dropping my phone on my face. And there is really no coming back from that.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that if you wanna be my lover, you gotta get off my “Best Friends List” and just text me.
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