Ooooh… my computer just told me (and it’s quite good like that. Likes to warn me about things, tells me what’s going on in the world. Is like having a secretary) that Mr Thomas has posted eight photos of me on Facebook.
You what? He’s sitting next to me here, both of us on our laptops like any romantic married couple. And he pics now, of all times, to do what is today’s equivalent of scrapbooking our holiday – posting photos on Facebook.
Shouldn’t I, as the wife, get to approve these photos? Do I not have that right?
Logged in to Facebook for the first time in ages – apprehensively – to see what photos of me are now out there on the world wide web for all to see.
Can you guess? Like any female who has not had the opportunity to veto, I’m not pleased.
The double-chinned view of me at Bread Street Kitchen I can take. I was eating and therefore it is understandable, surely, that I’m looking a bit bloated?
The pyjama photo perhaps demonstrates (a) how odd I am or (b) how lazy I am or (c) all of the above.
Now I know why Mr Thomas made me hot chocolate earlier. Buttering me up. Or chocolating me up.
It could be worse, I suppose. Oh, actually, it is worse. Just spotted the photo taken of my arse. Thank you very much, Mr Thomas. My readers, definitely, will not ever be allowed to view that one.
I will find out now if Mr Thomas comes after me for copyright.
I intend to play the wife card on that one.