go Facebook yourself.

Like many people who grew up to be functioning, happy, intellectually curious adults, I did not enjoy high school.

At all.

In fact, by the time I graduated -- having pretty much divided my senior year between a) dodging a group of delinquent freshmen who kept throwing gum in my hair, b) crying in the bathroom when one of the resident Mean Girls called me fat, and c) attempting to debunk the ridiculous but persistent rumor that my friend Maggie and I had engaged in lesbian sex on a trampoline while being filmed by some guy named Joe -- it was all I could do not to grab my diploma from the principal and run screaming into the night.

Of course, that was ten years ago.

Yep, ten years. And now, naturally, it's all water under the bridge. I'm 26, living in the greatest city in the world, happily career-focused and married to a lovely man. And, as is so often the case in these situations, the people who made me miserable at the age of 17 have all stayed in my hometown, aged poorly and developed enormous, lumpy asses.

But despite all that -- and I'm sure I'm not alone here -- I still remember all the shitty things that happened to me in high school, and the names and faces of the people responsible. The best-friend-turned-worst-enemy who taped a "Herpes Test Results" envelope to my locker? Yep, I remember her. The "popular guy" who asked me out but demanded that I keep it a secret because he didn't want his friends to find out? Oh yeah, him too. And, of course, the lovely young woman who used a Sharpie to write "Kat gives head to her dog" on the wall of the girls' locker room during sophomore year... well, what can I say? It would be impossible to forget her! After all we went through together!

Which is why I nearly peed in my pants when I opened my Facebook account yesterday and saw her smiling face staring out at me, accompanied by the message, "Jennifer wants to be your friend!"

Don't get me wrong -- I've always appreciated Facebook for its ability to throw me the occasional surprise faceful of What the fuck, but... well, you know. What the fuck.

Jennifer, darling, did I miss something, here? I mean, yes, it's been twelve years since that whole "gives head to her dog" thing, and yes, twelve years is a long time... but not that long.

It is not nearly long enough, for instance, that I would respond to your request by saying, "Oh yes, of course, let's be Facebook friends, because I totally do not remember that you once accused me of BLOWING DOGS."

In fact -- and I tell you this as a friend, of course -- when it comes to making friend requests? As a general rule, you should probably wait until it's been at least twenty years since you last called the person in question a dog blower. I know it probably seems unreasonable but people have a weird way of remembering things like that.