Reasons My Husband Is Crying

Ok, he's not really crying - not yet - that was just a nod to the often-hilarious Twitter feed Reasons My Son Is Crying. (Recently turned into a book--way to make lemonade out of lemons, Greg Pembroke!)

So, while my husband isn't crying, he's definitely on the verge of a full-blown temper tantrum. He's pacing from room to room with a puss on, as my grandmother would say. From his scowl, one can only imagine he's debating between pulling out his hair and punching a wall in frustration. Our mutual job search seems to be happening in dog years and the apparent success of our peers is taking its toll.

Remember when I mentioned that he arrived late to the social media party? Well, he's been making up for lost time by connecting with just about everyone he's ever met on LinkedIn. And, man, that is not working out the way CEO Jeff Weiner probably intended.

Leaving his attic perch where he's been "networking" on the computer, my husband comes stomping down the stairs shaking his head. (Insert sighs and guffaws here.)

"What now?" I ask. I, too, am running out of enthusiasm as my only notable accomplishment this month is not scratching the poison ivy I contracted while weeding.

"This guy! This guy I went to college with ... the last time I saw this guy he was doing keg-stands." More sighing. "Now he owns businesses up and down the Eastern seaboard."

What can I say? The only thing we own multiples of is juice boxes. He throws himself down on the couch, defeated, and I know what he's thinking: How could someone seamlessly transition from bumming cigarettes off the homeless to becoming a professor of supply chain management? I've been there. Looking at these profiles can be discouraging. How can an acquaintance you wouldn't trust with a cat now be managing a hedge fund?

It doesn't help that my husband, in this vulnerable state, is prone to believing everything he reads. He can no longer tell what's the God's honest truth and what's just straight up chicanery.

I try to explain to him that in the summary section no one is going to write "Spent a decade doing meaningless data entry.  Hoping to continue flying under the radar until I've socked away enough to retire somewhere in the bowels of Florida. Fingers crossed!" 

Naturally, everyone wants to come off like a cross between Martha Stewart and the Dalai Lama. Much like Facebook, people will have you believe everything is perfect. I suggest that he recall that photo of The So-and-Sos in matching Vineyard Vines seersucker shorts and polo shirts, in which even their Golden Doodle appears to be smiling. They look like the very personification of happiness and that's because most people don't know what's going on behind the scenes.(Which happens to be that the wife's compulsive scrapbooking and overuse of the trendy acronym "YOLO" have driven the Vicodin-popping husband straight into the arms of his high school sweetheart with whom he recently reconnected. Where? On Facebook.)

But busting these myths is only mildly comforting to my husband and I know what's coming next. The masters degree conversation. It seems while we were busy watching the entire "Lost" series and yawning through countless t-ball games, everyone else was getting his or her MBA, Ph.D and law degree.

"And what have I got?" my husband asks. This is where, if the mood were lighter, I would say "a leaking dehumidifier and a mountain of VHS tapes nobody wants." But that's not really helpful, is it?   
                                                                                                                                                       
So, how does social networking make you feel? Vote in the poll below.



Do You Believe LinkedIn Profiles Are...
Accurate
Embellished
Pure Fiction
Jury's Still Out
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