It's rude to point. Don't point your finger at me, don't know where it's been.

Before going any further, read this. That way what I'm about to say will make sense.

DISCLAIMER- I will acknowledge/ allow that in light of certain other huge changes Facebook wheeled out over yesterday and today (depending on when Zuckerberg changed yours) the removal of one button pales into ridiculousness. Still, there you are.

As I was saying, I was shown this the other day, because I clicked on a link to it after a Twitter-user retweeted someone's re-tweet of a link to a blog. Confused? Such are the gateway times we live in, internet user. Anyway, it got me thinking about the elusive, mysterious "Poke".

It reminded me that I never concluded this lovely little missive, relating love, life and the excellent advice to never go after a woman who lists "teethwhitening faketaninjections" as a friend on the world's greatest spy-network, Facebook. I never told anyone who cared and didn't hear it from me in real life (I do, contrary to popular belief, have one) how the episode ended. In the words of Ted Mosby- "Kids- *generic entrance to a long-winded but entertaining story here*"

The "Poke" button, first and foremost, is an evil contraption. In this story, either: a rogue glitch from the website sent a "Poke" from her to me; she did it then denied it either for a dare to befriend the geekiest person they could (probable), because she wanted to befriend me for some reason then thought better of it (initially unlikely, then understandable), to just mess with someone (not likely, she didn't seem malicious); I found her by trawling through the friends of the one mutual friend we have in common and picking her out, despite not knowing the mutual friend well at all (which makes me sound creepy and pervy, and would only ever have occurred were I blind drunk to the point where my fingers wouldn't work the keys, rendering the exercise fruitless- I'd hope). So, the game was afoot.

Now, I was recently informed that there exists an abbreviation, DTF, that stands for "Down to have-a-lovely-time-with-me-in-states-of-undress". It's possible that you could replace the idea of her wanting to befriend me then thinking better of it with this motive, in which case it would initially be ridiculous and the change of mind would be a moment of clarity. I certainly doubt it, despite some people telling me it's possible.

Either way, I replied to her assertion that I had "poked" her, when I don't think I've "poked" anyone first in my life, with an airy "aha, no I didn't", assuming this was part of the game, the cat and mouse "let's just move on from Odd Avenue and find ourselves at the cross-junction of Small Talk Street and Getting Along Famously Boulevard, and hope we don't take a turn onto That Was A Waste Of Time Drive".

It wasn't. I haven't heard from her since, which isn't an entire loss, but when it became clear after a few months that I wouldn't be hearing from her she fell victim to a routine Facebook friend cull on the grounds of Unknown Tease. And this, in summary, is why I dislike the "Poke". And women, but only few and only sometimes. Generally they're alright, bordering on the searched for.

Of course, all of this is perhaps by-the-by when you consider that Facebook have, among the myriad of changes for which they've been royally bollocked by their users, taken that button and hidden it- away from the witless who are tempted to use it for everything, and removed from the sight of people like myself who really used it as much as a puce, deliberately bobble-strewn jumper received as a present from an elderly relative allowed out for the day. Food for ravenous brains- the only brains that would stoop so low as touch this cuisine.