Editor's Note: Sunday Success is a weekly blog dedicated to documenting the frustrations, difficulties and humor in developing ridiculous amounts of success in college.
Nothing says “Thanks for the good time, but I’m not into that type of commitment,” more than clicking that convenient little “unfollow” button readily available on my Twitter profile. I mean, what could I have possibly said to make you feel it necessary to show your way out of my Twittersphere, coat in hand and a big ol’ “F*ck you” grin planted perfectly on that pretentious face of yours? Reasons I have been brainstorming:
You didn’t mean to. You are new at this whole social media endeavor. You’re a maniacal clicker and I was the one chosen on your game of Twitter roulette. That’s tolerable, but just come back already.
I retweeted someone you despise. I didn’t get the memo that you hated yet another acquaintance of mine and now I’m suddenly on your list of the most unwanted. What they said was probably legimitately clever and/or educating and I’m sorry you have poor taste in Twenemies. This social media protest of yours is equivalent to egging my house because I shop at the same grocery store as your ex. Lighten up—99 percent of the time we’re in completely different aisles.
The quantity of my tweets scares you. I (barely) comprehend your ability to manage getting by with one tweet a day, but you don’t have to shove your uni-tweet beliefs down my throat passive-aggressively by “letting me go.” I firmly stand by the idea of quality over quantity, but does it scare you that I have both?
I didn’t follow you back. This is becoming a rather selfish relationship, wouldn’t you agree? As much as I appreciate your interest in my catatonic word vomit, I didn’t want to lead you on by making you think I was interested in what you had to say. You on the other hand have become quite the indian-giver and should respectfully return so I can reach my much-anticipated goal count.
You don’t think I’m funny. All aboard the getting-super-personal-train! What I think is funny is usually not what 90 percent of the world’s population ROFL’s over. This should settle with you nicely, as your expectations of me being a complete public weirdo and not a comedian will be much supported by my 20+ tweets a day (see earlier quantity fear).
I don’t like cats.
So you’re a little off your rocker and are no longer obsessed with the idea of loving cats, but hating those who don’t. Unfortunately in the duration of your following me, I have repeatedly reminded followers of my misunderstanding with felines and you just can’t stop being pissed. Remedy this by replacing the word “cats” with “my third grade teacher” and it will not only be accurate but less offensive to you.
