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In these modern times where everyone’s life is displayed on social media for the world to see, sometimes we reveal things about ourselves that should be held private. Some people may need to stop and think before posting every detail of their lives on their social media pages. I don’t know about you, but I don’t need to know what someone had for supper. I suppose I could get on board and post a picture of my bologna sandwich I had for supper, but I don’t like to show off.

I saw a post today on social media where the person posted details about that strange growth on their hindquarters. Too much information there for sure. Someone else posted that they were depressed. When people started to ask what was wrong, they responded, “I don’t want to talk about it”.

Hmm, maybe consider not posting so every Tom, Dick and Harry can see it then?

I was looking at a car ad someone posted the other day and I noticed they had the license plate blurred out in the photo. The seller said they didn’t want anyone to have access to their plate numbers. I hate to be the one to tell them, but we drive around town every day with the license plate exposed. If anyone had any desire to know the numbers, they could just sit in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly and see all the numbers they wanted. Later, when I sent a message for information about the car, they protected their phone number and address as if they lived in Fort Knox. I remember a time not so long ago when everyone’s phone number and address was printed in a big book that was mailed out to every house in town. We called this forgotten relic, the phone book. That’s right kids, everyone’s information was listed in plain view for easy access so maybe just chill out a little on the secret agent behavior.

However, some things are meant to be private and for one reason or another, they are not. For instance, thanks to my neighbor’s insistence to yell every conversation at the top of their lungs, I know that my neighbor suffers from a mean case of indigestion brought on by his wife’s meatloaf which according to him, “Tastes like the hind quarters of death”. I was minding my own business when I heard all this. The fact that I tip toed and was scrunched down behind the bush wishing I had some popcorn is irrelevant.

I often laugh when I remember the time I accidently released a seemingly private situation upon the entire town. When I was a teenager, I tagged along while my father went to our church to drop off some items. Always being a curious person, I found my way into the sound room that contained the microphone system. I was punching buttons like an air traffic controller having no clue what I was doing.

The following Sunday when the special music started to perform, it was discovered that in my flurry of button pushing the day before, I had accidently switched the system from the speakers inside the church to the ones that were outside the church. Bringing in the Sheaves was blasted to the entire community and could be heard for miles around. I never did admit that I was the one that was responsible. So, if you were woke from your slumber on a Sunday morning in Stanford, Ky in 1989 and enjoyed the free concert, you are welcome.