Confused dot com

or Things That Make You Run Screaming Into Therapy

There are some things in life I don't get, will never get, ever. Like how to change a toilet roll (man's work since the holder is so complicated). How to empty the vacuum cleaner (also man's work because of its unfathomable structure). And how to order a takeaway (yep, man stuff again, hunter gatherer and all that sort of thing).

The list goes on. Take Facebook for instance (or Faecesbook as someone referred to it recently). I'm on it, but I'm not quite sure why. I feel I'm missing out on some pertinent piece of information that will make me go Oh yes, of course! I mean, exactly how excited should I be about having an apparent glut of Hatching Pets?

Social networking they call it. Back in my day (cue Hovis music... what do you mean, you don't have it, what kind of background music department are you? Any violin music at all? Just the William Tell Overture? Tsk). Anyway, in my day social networking was getting your mate to tell the boy you fancied him and did he want to go out with you. Social networking meant meeting up with your mates outside the corner shop to have a crafty fag whilst comparing badly applied makeup. Social networking actually meant meeting actual people. Call me old fashioned.

Slang is something else I don't get because its clearly not meant for my generation (the one just below decrepit), more like a code the youngsters use to stop us 'sussing' what they're on about (or maybe to deliberately confuse us so they can have us committed and make off with the inheritance - won't they be surprised to find there isn't one).

My youngest son said, "That's so fat," the other day. When pressed for an explanation, he said, "Fat means good." "I thought bad meant good?" I said, confused. He just tutted and rolled his eyes, clearly thinking Tsk, mothers!

Another son, when I mentioned I didn't understand a word I'd heard on a TV show, asked what it was. When I said, 'rimming', he got all apoplectic and said I shouldn't know about such things. I Googled it of course, but I'm still none the wiser.

And text speak, a completely different language altogether. I had a message from a friend the other day that read thus: "alryt slut! hows tings? my nu job goin wicked m8:) work is bit gash tho. Wot u duin?"

I didn't reply because, frankly, after struggling to decipher any meaning, I didn't have the strength.

I'm hoping they'll bring out a DVD or a 'large-print' book soon called How Not To Appear Stupid All The Time. But I fear it may already be too late, I've been pushed, kicking and screaming, into the generation that Knows Nothing... or is it just me? Oh great, just me again.

Meanwhile I'll just stumble on, clueless and ignorant, doing the best I can in this harsh, cruel world.

Brummie Broad: Here every Tuesday (unless life takes over and locks me in a cupboard)
Brummie Blogs: There rest of time.