There is a secret reason we use Facebook. And it’s not self-aggrandizement, not obsessive status updates. It is not even finding out who’s still single.

It is seeing that she got fat.

Maybe not morbidly obese, but definitely not the girl who looked good in a bikini. The one who broke your heart. Who maybe cheated on you. Maybe you thought she was the one. Or maybe you were just angry that you put up with little rat dogs for so long, just to get dumped.

Whatever.

The point is, Facebook has pictures of her looking fat.

There they are. You know that maybe you haven’t aged like find wine either. You’ve got a little more gut and a little less hair. But you haven’t been so foolish as to post, where any ex-girlfriend could find them, photos that clearly depict your decay.

But she has.

This doesn’t reflect well on me or you or any of us. It’s a selfish, un-Christ-like pleasure. But it goes down like a cold beer after a long day at work. You hear the whoosh of air when you crack the cap and that first, refreshing, foamy wave of sweet beery goodness flow over tongue, washing away the world’s pain as it goes down.

It won’t last forever. It may be associated with painful hangovers and shrunken livers. It does not replace true love, sunsets, and great art.

But it feels so damn good for just a little while, doesn’t it?