Your high school reunion is approaching, and you’re figuring out what has to happen for you to be able to attend. In the process, you reach out to a few people you haven’t heard from in a while to see if they’re coming. And that’s when you discover that a girl you adore – one of a group of three that you dubbed The Hellcats because they gave you all kinds of grief – has at some point unfriended you. And even though you rarely communicated, you now feel like some lame Charlie with only two Angels.

You saw an article in Esquire once about how real men don’t care about being unfriended. But this same magazine also instructed you to pre-treat jean shorts before putting them in the wash by throwing them away. Ever since, you’ve been sporting a horror show of less durable, more stainable khaki or linen shorts with pockets that are easily picked. Fuck you Esquire.

To date you can still count each of the Facebook folks who have unfriended you. There was the lawyer who didn’t like your joke about the paleo diet. There was the doctor who worried that your jokes weren’t HIPAA compliant – because “Erin saved a baby” is such a dangerously revealing statement. There was the girl who sat beside you in seventh grade and tried to convince you that you were secretly gay – only to grow up and marry a dude who is secretly gay. You are aware of these and a few others, but they don’t really matter.

This one is different.

She was your first team debate partner, back when you were still in that tentative, “will I be good at this debate stuff?” phase. She was your first actual date – to a Homecoming Dance admittedly, where extravagant mums and awful dresses were the norm, but still. And she was the first girl to consistently roll her eyes in exasperation at almost everything you said or did. In short, when it came to interactions with females, she was a titan of your formative years.

And now, apparently, she wants nothing to do with you.

What’s so vexing is that you have no idea why she gave you the virtual boot. It could be the absurd frequency with which you post – though she could have simply unfollowed you to get you off her timeline. It could be your odd sense of humor – though, c’mon, you’re hysterical. It could be that she totally wants you and is frustrated she can’t have you. (Let’s all just agree it’s that one). But whatever it is, you wish she’d given you the chance to apologize, or to clear up a misunderstanding, or to plead your case as being worthy of a virtual friendship.

How we respond in the face of adversity is supposed to be the true test of our character. And if that’s the case, your character is the flop-on-the-couch, send-cranky-IMs, and moan-about-stuff-on-your-blog kind.

You consider reaching out to her, but what would she even say? “You never shut up, Mike,” or “You’re so not funny, Mike. Also fat,” or “You got me, Mike, I want you, which is why I haven’t communicated with you since 2012.”

You consider a juvenile social media stunt: “Like and share if you love our troops! (and if [her name] should still be friends with Mike Hamilton on Facebook.)”

You consider engaging the other two Hellcats to plead your case, but honestly, it would probably just backfire and they’d unfriend you too. These women are impossible.

And then eureka! The answer strikes like a bolt of lightning. This girl was giving you Hell twenty-nine years ago, and she still is! Being ignored is your kryptonite, and that’s exactly what she’s doing!

And then you’re laughing. Well played Hellcat. Well played indeed.