Oh, for heaven's sake. Make one false move on Facebook and just like that, you set the clock back three years.

Oh, for heaven's sake. Make one false move on Facebook and just like that, you set the clock back three years.

It wouldn't bother me so much if my mistake didn't inadvertently involve my younger daughter-- my married younger daughter -- from whom some people apparently already have begun to expect a second wave of "save the date" cards.

It happened the other night, when I was noodling around on my electronic tablet. The tablet is newish, which is to say I've had it for about eight months now, but let's face it, I've hardly begun to explore all the many ways it could be used. If it were a piano, I'd have played only the top eight keys.

So I was reading a library book while working a crossword puzzle, looking up random things on my tablet (yes, including a few crossword puzzle clues; what are you going to do, have me arrested?) and, as often happens when I'm settled comfortably in my chair of an evening, occasionally dozing off, when I thought I'd visit my daughter's Facebook page. Without thinking, I typed her name into the first blank slot I saw, which, as it turned, out merely posted her name on the so-called Wall of my own Facebook page.

People who know my daughter, of course, know she married her husband in 2008, at which time the two of them linked their last names with a hyphen and adopted the result as their new surname. That's what I posted: her name. Just her hyphenated name, all by itself without explanation or further narrative, and some people took that post as an announcement of a pending exchange of vows.

I realized this only when I received a Facebook message telling me someone had commented on my "status." Normally, no one ever comments on my status because my status never changes. My Facebook status is like that of a dormant organism: a state of low metabolic activity that doesn't move for long periods of time.

The fact is, I forget about Facebook for weeks on end. While some people may be incapable of spooning up cereal without announcing their activity on Facebook and/or Twitter ("I love my Cheerios!"), it has yet to occur to me to broadcast my breakfast to every tech-savvy person out there. As a result, while I accept every Friend invitation I receive - am I supposed to say no? - my presence on Facebook is more implied than active.

But about this "status change," which is how some people interpreted my accidental typing of my daughter's name into the wrong space.

"Congratulations!" several people wrote.

"When is the ceremony?" wrote another.

"Oh, for the love of Mike," I said to the ceiling, knowing this was entirely my fault.

Then, to top it off, I followed that mistake with another. I was alerted to the second incident by my older daughter, who sent me an email as soon as she saw my Facebook post.

"Very insightful, Mom!" my daughter wrote. Again this message was delivered by Facebook, with the information that someone had commented on my status.

Oh, no, I thought. With a sinking heart, I clicked on the box that read "See the comment thread" and saw what I had posted for all the Facebook world to see: "ft cfc."

That's it. As one long-distance friend said, she never hears from me on Facebook, and when I do check in, I write in code.

"You know, Mom, you can delete things," my older daughter told me gently. That's true, and I'm sure I could figure out how to do it. But if I deleted random messages such as my daughter's name and "ft cfc," my friends on Facebook would never hear from me at all. Incomprehensible gobbledygook is better than utter silence, isn't it? Well, isn't it?

And furthermore, ft cfc.