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MidReal Story
Unveiling James: A Social Media Journey
Anonymous
May 23
Scenario:Woman wants her husband to be more active on social media her husband is down with it
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James Hart
husband and introvert, married to Emily, tall with a reserved demeanor, thoughtful and private.
Sarah Jennings
Emily's best friend and social media influencer, single, stylish with a vibrant personality, supportive and trendy.
Emily Hart
wife and social media enthusiast, married to James, slender with bright eyes, outgoing and persuasive.
“Come on, James,” I say, tugging on my husband’s arm.
“Just one picture.”
He shakes his head, his eyes glued to the football game on the big screen in front of us.
“Why do you always want to take pictures?”
I pout and give him my best puppy dog eyes.
“Because I want to remember this moment forever.”
He glances at me and smirks.
“We’re at a sports bar watching the game with our friends.
It’s not exactly a momentous occasion.”
I roll my eyes and turn to our friends, who are all sitting around the table with their phones out, snapping selfies and taking pictures of their food.
Sarah Jennings, my best friend since college, is holding her phone up in the air, angling it just right so she can get a good shot of herself and her margarita.
Me, on the other hand, I’ve got a whopping 255 followers on Instagram, and that’s only because James finally let me convince him to make an account last year.
I like to think of it as my own personal photo album.
I post pictures of us on vacation, our dogs, our new house—anything and everything I want to remember.
But James is a private person, so I’m lucky if he agrees to let me post a picture of him once a week.
It’s a running joke between us.
I ask him to be more active on social media at least once a month, and he tells me no.
Or maybe it’s not so much of a joke as it is an annoying habit of mine.
He’s just so handsome, with his chiseled jawline and dark hair, not to mention the fact that he’s built like a linebacker.
And he looks even better in person than he does in pictures, especially when he’s being all serious and broody.
I’m always trying to get a picture of his resting bitch face, but he’s too smart for that.
“Just take the picture, Em,” Sarah says, rolling her eyes.
I grab my phone and hold it up in front of us.
“James, please,” I say in a singsong voice.
He narrows his eyes at me, and for a second I think he might actually smile.
But then he looks over his shoulder at the other people sitting at the bar and gives me two thumbs down.
“Come on,” I say through gritted teeth.
Everyone else is taking pictures of their food and their cocktails, not to mention the fact that they’re all posting Instagram stories like they’re getting paid to do it.
The least James can do is take one lousy picture with me.
He shakes his head again, and the vein in his forehead pops out, which means he’s really annoyed now.
“Fine,” I say, setting my phone down on the table with a huff.
“I’ll just have to take a picture of my food instead.”
James narrows his eyes at me again and wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side.
I let out a little squeal and reach for my phone, but he grabs it first and sets the timer on the camera.
He gives me a stern look, as if to say, “This is the one and only time I’m going to do this for you.”
Then he wraps his other arm around me, and I snuggle into his side, resting my head on his chest.
He’s like a big teddy bear, and even though he’s being a grouch right now, I could never stay mad at him for long.
I love him too much.
“Say cheese,” he mutters, and I turn my head, pressing my lips to his cheek, just as he snaps the picture.
“I can’t believe you don’t want to watch football with me anymore.”I hold up my phone and snap a selfie of Sarah, Mark, Jack, and myself sitting at our usual table at the sports bar, with James standing behind me, scowling at his phone.“Because you keep trying to take pictures of me,” he says, sounding exasperated.
“And you keep posting them on the internet for everyone to see.”
“I do not post everything on the internet,” I say, setting my phone down on the table.
“He’s right, Em,” Sarah says, winking at James over her margarita.
“I’m sure there are some things you keep private.”
I roll my eyes and punch her in the arm, but she just chuckles and takes another sip of her drink.
“Besides, what’s the point of going out if you’re just going to stare at your phone the entire time?”
Jack says, giving James a thumbs up from across the table.
James grins and holds up his beer in response, but then he glances over at me, and his smile fades a little bit as he raises an eyebrow.
“What are you doing?”
he mouths silently, as if he doesn’t already know the answer.
“Taking a picture of you and our friends,” I say matter-of-factly, holding up my phone again and snapping another selfie of the five of us sitting around our table at the bar.
James rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath, but I don’t catch it because the boys start chanting for the ref to review a play on the big screen, and Sarah and I get distracted by the game, too, until we hear the crowd groan, and we realize our team just lost a touchdown.
Sarah shakes her head and gives me a sympathetic look as I pout and cross my arms, glaring at the big screen as if it’s all the referee’s fault that our team sucks this year and can’t seem to win a game to save their lives.
I glance over at James, who’s sitting at the end of the table with his eyes glued to his phone, and I roll my eyes again, only this time I’m not playacting—I’m genuinely annoyed with him, because he’s being antisocial and ruining our fun yet again.
“Why are you watching the game on your phone when you’re literally five feet away from the big screen?”
He looks up at me and narrows his eyes, as if he can’t believe I just asked him that question.
“The same reason you’re taking pictures of yourself instead of watching it with me.”
“Maybe if I post more pictures of you on my account, you’d get more followers,” I say, trying a different tactic to get him to be more active online and interact with our fans.
“You know Sarah always posts when we go out,” I add, and he looks over at her and Mark, who are bickering over which appetizers to order.
“I’ll post when I have something to say.” He pauses and smirks.
“Or maybe I should post pictures of my muscles and all the weightlifting I’ve been doing lately.
You think I’d get more likes than you?”
I roll my eyes and smile, because this is the James I know—the one who can be playful and teases me about my social media obsession, even if he doesn’t understand it.
“Are you saying I’m not as good-looking as you?”
He sets his phone down, looks me up and down, and then shrugs.
“Can’t argue with the truth.” He winks at me, and I stick my tongue out at him before turning back to the game.
He grabs his phone again and starts scrolling through his feed, and I sigh, because I know there’s no point in arguing with him anymore.
James is as stubborn as they come, and I don’t know why I waste my time trying to change his mind about social media or anything else.
I guess it’s because I’ve always been the more outgoing and talkative one in our relationship, and I love that about us—that we balance each other out and bring out the best in each other even if we have different personalities and interests and hobbies.
What can I say?
I’m a people person—I enjoy being around others and talking to them and making friends with them instantly—and James is more reserved and introspective and thoughtful.
I can count on one hand the number of friends he has, but it works for him—and it works for us—because he’d rather have a small group of close friends than a large group of acquaintances he doesn’t trust or care about.
That’s why we get along so well—I’m his best friend, too—and I think that’s one of the reasons we’ve been together for so long and make such a great couple, because we respect each other’s differences and appreciate what we bring to the table as individuals and partners in life.
I turn back to the big screen—just as our team fumbles yet again—and I can’t help but chuckle at how predictable they are this season.
“They’d be so much better if they played my team,” I say to James under my breath.
He smirks and shakes his head at me before stuffing another wing in his mouth and going back to his phone.
“James says my team would kick your team’s ass,” I tell Sarah across the table, and she laughs.
“Yeah, right,” she says.
She looks at her phone and smiles before texting someone back.
“If I were you, I’d stick to worrying about your own team instead of mine.”
“Good advice,” I mumble under my breath as I scroll through my feed and make sure I’m not missing any important notifications or messages from fans or followers who want to know what we’re up to or where we’re going next.