It was one of those lazy Saturday afternoons when I found myself scrolling through Facebook, pretending I was doing something productive. You know, like feeding my digital plants or joining my aunt's 87th multi-level marketing group. I got a notification: a message from someone named Alex. Now, Alex's profile picture was a cat wearing sunglasses, which immediately told me two things: 1) they had impeccable taste, and 2) they probably weren't taking life too seriously. We exchanged the usual pleasantries, bonded over our mutual disdain for people who recline their seats on airplanes, and then Alex dropped a bombshell. "So, do you ever walk by that creepy old bakery on 5th and get the urge to stare through the window, wondering if they sell actual baked goods or just nightmares?" I paused, a realization dawning. I replied, "How do you know about that bakery? I've told only one person about my fear of muffin monsters." There was a slight pause, and Alex responded, "Well, someone had to be your imaginary friend, right? Facebook isn't just for humans anymore." I closed my laptop, reassured myself there was no possible way I was chatting with the figment of my childhood imagination, and decided that maybe those digital plants needed more attention after all. Nothing like a bit of denial to water down reality.