"Hey ladies. Anyone know what time the Coles at Smith Street closes on Wednesdays?"
Faye Ridgoldson (38) is a busy mother of two beautiful children, and has been a member of the East Shore Mothers community Facebook group for a couple of years. It is generally a pretty supportive group, with the exception of the occasional skirmish over some hot-button issues. She loves seeking recommendations and advice from like-minded local mums on just about any topic, from restaurant recommendations to obtaining second-hand clothes for the kids.
However, of late, her bond with the 30,000 other local mums on that page has started to become a bit of an obsession. Whenever any issue comes up in her life, she will immediately wonder what the East Shore Mothers think she should do. And she can't wait to let them know about every little development in her or her kids' lives. She's even shared a picture of a bottle of wine on the page on a Friday evening.
But the first moment that she realised she might have a problem came on Wednesday. She was at home with her hubby and the kids, and realised she'd forgotten to buy garlic for dinner. It was a tad late, and she wasn't sure if the local shops would still be open.
In her heart of hearts, she knew that this was a question for Google. Google would provide the answer quicker than any other method of ascertaining the relevant information. And she was just about to type the words into the search bar when she had a very strong compulsion.
"Maybe I should trouble the 30,000 East Shore Mothers with this question? Maybe they'll not only give me the answer, but also a little sympathy that I went all the way to the shops and forgot garlic. Yep I think I'll do that."
And she did. She knew it was self-indulgent and wrong, but she did it anyway.
The first comment told her she still had an hour before the shop closed. Great news. She set off for the shops. She was about half way to the shops when she realised she'd forgotten her phone. No big deal- she knew what time the shops closed, and she had her money for the garlic. But this is again where compulsion kicked in.
She knew there would be some good banter on her facebook post about cooking, forgetting things and the like. And she didn't want to miss out on that. So then she did something she's not proud of.
She drove home to get her phone, pretending to her husband that she'd forgotten her credit card. She knows that this is another significant step towards junkie behaviour, but she couldn't help it.
That page is her life.