Peep Show? Ugh, No.

The screen flashed a message in the bottom right hand corner. It was her own fault. What sort of self-respecting woman left the Facebook chat on, she groaned to herself. Without looking at the name she re-filled her glass, certain it was going to be the very person she was ignoring. She took a sip, followed it up with a deep breath, squared her shoulders and clicked on the bottom right hand corner.

'Oh Christ.' The dogs looked up at the unfamiliar noise. Bonnie was as useless with small-talk with them as she was with people. The sound had them both pricking their ears up.

Hey, sweetie. How's things?

Bonnie shook her head.

Mother, it's weird when you message me on here.

It was going to be a three-glass night, Bonnie could just feel it.

It's weird that I have to message you on here. Don't you answer your phone anymore? It's also weird that you haven't found a man. Are you a lesbian? I only ask because your father is worried about you.

Twirling her long, brunette ponytail in her fingers, Bonnie considered which level of hell you went to for lying to your parents about your sexuality and how many levels down she would be prepared to go if it made them stop asking for grandchildren. With so little say in the outcome it was too risky though and she went with a more pragmatic response.

A woman can be single by choice without being a lesbian, mother. We've talked about this. FFS, Ellen is married. And if I were a lesbian, would this really be the best medium of communication in which to relay that message?

Nodding to herself she was proud of her self-control.

What does FFS mean? I worry about you.

Her face dropped into her hands and more groans and profanities filled the air.

I'll call you tomorrow, mum.

Turning the chat off she drained her glass and considered getting a hobby. As quickly as the idea came it was gone (most likely due to being drowned out by alcohol) so she went back to staring at the Facebook newsfeed and debating whether or not to post something contentious just for the sake of being contentious.

The last week she'd posted a political article that she hadn't even bothered to read but which had stirred a lot of debate amongst the introverts of Tumblr, which had automatically made it good Facebook fodder. Pouting her lips like a centrefold she tried to remember just what it had been but it escaped her. She'd lost seven friends over that status update though. It was hard to care when she had yet work out who a single one of those seven were. At any time Bonnie could tell you exactly how many people were in her friends list. Make no mistake though, it was more her interest in seeing what she could and couldn't get away with than any need to feel wanted that kept her checking the numbers.

Also because she was bored and wanted attention. The laptop made another annoying noise.

'Ugh.' Someone else messaging her.

DTF?

Chivalry was indeed dead. She was sure of it.

No. Go away you disgusting creep.

If he'd been in front of her she definitely would've contemplated stabbing him.

You didn't say that when I was screwing your brains out.

Bonnie's eyebrows hit the ceiling.

It was 1998, you were my first boyfriend, the sex was crap, and you spent eleven months stalking me after we broke-up. You do not now get to message me ON FACEBOOK nearly fifteen years later to ask me to have sex with you like we just saw each other. You were vile then, you're clearly still vile now. Die.

She opened his profile and with a feeling of power, calmly hit block, indicating that he was someone she didn't know. Triumphant, she smiled and poured another glass.

Yes, it was indeed a riveting life that Bonnie Martin was leading and it was nice to know her prediction had been right. It was indeed a three glass night.