Editors’ note: Today Facebook announced that you can choose an heir to run your page after you die. This is how you might go about telling your heir they’ve been chosen.
Monica, sit down. Here’s some ice tea. It’s sweetened just how you like.
No, let’s talk about book club later. First, I need to ask you something really important.
I’ve been thinking, and Mon, we’ve known each other a long time.
Yes, 8 years. Wow, we’re so old. But you look great! I’m just saying, wow, we’re old.
Speaking of old, that brings me to what I want to ask: Mon, I might die.
No, I’m not dying! I mean any more than we all are every second of every day, you know, because of the weird edge of the present moment that is constantly slicing closer and closer toward nonexistence.
No, I’m healthy and everything is great, but you know, I could die any second, and I’ve been thinking about how you are so important to me. You get me. Like, for instance, that time we went to see Sex and the City 2 with the girls, and I was so pissed afterward about how racist it was? And dumb? And they were like, shut up Emily, stop denigrating a great franchise. But you, Mon, you totally had my back.
OK, yes, I am leaving you something. Not in my will really, but–look, it might seem silly. But I really want you to have it, because I think you can handle it.
No, not my car. I mean, you can have her if you want? But she needs a new carberator, so… Look, Mon, I’m talking about Facebook.
I want you, if you can handle it, to take on the responsibility of running my Facebook page when I die.
I know this is a lot to take in. Your eye is twitching. Should I spike that tea?
Look, Mon, you can do this! You are so capable and strong and loving and insightful. You know never to post too many status updates a day. You know not to whine and complain on Facebook because nobody needs that shit. You know that only important articles are worth posting, but that every rule was made to be broken so the occasional cat video is good too! You know that petitions have no place on Facebook but pleas for justice do. You know I don’t post on other people’s walls. You know never to poke. You know to be funny, but never leave typos uncorrected. You know to be generous with my likes. You know to comment saying, “happy birthday, babe!” when it’s one of our friend’s birthdays, and to NEVER write HBD.
Do you know about how to refresh a share attachment on a post? And how to edit? Don’t worry. I’ll teach you.
You are the only one who can take this on, Mon. And I am so lucky to have you. I know you won’t take this lightly.
Oh, and I know you won’t ever post a Facebook note. No one uses those.
Don’t cry. I know I am crying, but it’s just because, I don’t know, it’s crazy that we have to think about this! We’re so old and fragile! But I feel so much better knowing my legacy is in good hands. Tell everyone I love them. But don’t make them feel weird.
OK, OK, drink your ice tea. Here, it needs a dash more vodka.
Yeah, book club is going to suck. I haven’t even started yet.
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