I still don’t have a dog.

Don’t have a mischievous cat either.

Haven’t changed my hairstyle.

I did not knit my own wedding gown or make my own ceramic wok.

I did not grow my own tomatoes, herbs, or strawberries. No amusingly large squash.

I did not plant pomegranates. And I never will.

Sorry, I have not perfected my pie crust.

And I did not make a cake with frosting sculpted into the shape of robots playing soccer on the moon for my son’s eighth birthday.

A happy winking emoji can be inserted to confuse people about your real attitude toward any post. Happy winking emoji = plausible deniability.

On Friday night, I did not drink pomegranate martinis with my besties at a hip bar downtown.

There are no adorable videos of my 4 kids piled on top of the couch eating S’mores, wearing pirate costumes.

I have not recently taken up a new sporting activity, and I have no photos of me in tennis outfits where I look youthful and vigorous and carefree.

No photos of me surfing in middle age, clad in a wetsuit, thumbs up, having a blast.

I have only the one kid, and I like to protect his privacy.

No videos of my dog chasing butterflies. Remember, no dog.

I have not painted my dining room pomegranate red.

I have not recently hiked to the top of Mount Denali.

All the world’s zip lines have so far evaded my grasp.

The state of the world scares and depresses me just as much as it does you, but it’s not a contest.

My home improvement projects are only marginally successful.

I have not eaten the BEST tacos or ice cream or homemade brown-butter sage ravioli at the latest trendy food truck.

I am hopelessly behind schedule on all the cool TV shows.

I am not quite sure who the Kardashians are.

The books I read are usually from academic presses.

I am re-reading Simone de Beauvoir’s The Second Sex, but I’m guessing you’d rather not know that.

Also, I just had a pomegranate smoothie, but it tasted like weevils, so I figure it’s best to leave that out.

No, I did not get a special honor from my employer or alma mater or neighborhood association.

Videos of cute animals do not move me to tears. Not even hedgehogs. Not even baby hedgehogs.

OMG. I don’t do church or anything resembling it.

I am not raising chickens.

Most of my political opinions mimic those of smarter, better-informed people, so what’s the point really?

Genealogy is boring.

I do not know where to find THE BEST deal on anything.

I am not reaping the benefits of antioxidants from pomegranates.

I have not made pomegranate mousse.

Mosquitos are bothersome; memes are bothersome; formulaic humor is bothersome.

The banality of digital stickers makes me want to weep.

Insert sobbing green owl, tearful kitten, crying pink pig.

I am not training for a marathon.

I am not feeling guilty about not training for a marathon.

I do have good sex, but apparently it would be gauche, offensive, or boastful to say so. Unless maybe it was part of my training for a marathon, and I am not training for a marathon.

I am tired of taking flak for my feminist ideas. (If you click on the Angry emoji here, I won’t know if it is because you think feminists are unreasonably angry or because you are angry that I get flak for being a feminist, and I will resent the fact that I have to puzzle that out on my own. So fuck it.)

I do not have a great new job or apartment or cool skirt.

It is hot, but it is July in the United States, so you already knew that.

I do not want to induce a flood of mansplaining.

Who cares if there are awesome new popsicle flavors?

I have not tried colored eyeshadows lately.

There is no emoji for sorrow.

There is a color of eyeshadow called Lilac Sorrow.

I dislike tattoos, and I already know that most of you will find this opinion unwelcome and elitist.

Does anyone know where to get the best organic pomegranates? I don’t care if you do.

I did go on vacation, but I was too busy enjoying it to post pictures, and since it is now more than 20 seconds since it happened, no one could possibly be interested in that.

I am not married and will not gloat about my anniversary.

Somehow, my loved ones know I love them even without my announcing it here.

I’d rather not humiliate myself by posting pictures of myself at age 14.

I’d rather not force you to say insincere things about me.

My daughter did not win the spelling bee. (I will not insert a crying-bee sticker here.) She was not the youngest diver ever to spelunk the Florida aquifer. She did not receive certification in underwater welding or go skydiving or get her pilot’s license. She is not currently conducting my state’s orchestra. Her novel was not published. She did not get into an Ivy league college. She looks like a baby in her baby pictures. Right now, she is probably eating potato chips and watching YouTube videos. Face it, I don’t even have a daughter.

For me, emojis activate existential despair. Even the ones for “Haha” and “Happy.”

Call me old-fashioned, but a social media post does not seem like a profound memorial to my dearly departed grandparents.

Okay, I finally got a dog, but you are so busy posting pictures of your own dog that I can’t see why you’d care about mine. He digs holes in the backyard and barks at fireworks, but he is, after all, a dog, so what’s there to report?

I have not benefited from a new diet or skincare product.

Pomegranate juice has not diminished my age spots or acne.

I have not achieved most of what I set out to do in my life.

I didn’t even go to my 20th high school reunion.

I do not think social media is very social.

I love you all, but I’m slowly dying of ennui.

There is no colored ribbon to show your support for people suffering from ennui. It is a silent killer.

Research shows that people who eat 12 or more pomegranates each week are the tiniest bit healthier than those who do not. But research also shows that they are more prone to ennui. And they are just too weird to be tolerated.

Death by ennui is slow and painful.

This is not a cry for help.

Every time I look at Facebook, my dog becomes agitated. I think he can hear high-pitched screams rising from the graveyard of posts.

I am not agitated. Do not tell me to lighten up, calm down, or smile. I may have to smother you in your sleep with a pillow full of emojis. Happy emojis.

Happy winking emoji.