I hit the wrong button on Sunday evening, but didn’t know it until I logged onto email Monday morning.  I found 200 messages from people who are now connected to me on LinkedIn.

My life might be saner if we still communicated this way.

My computer geek friend, who is one of those now LinkedIn with me, said, “Easy to do, Georgia.  I went in to figure out what you did, and you hit ‘submit’ twice, but both times it was next to the button you wanted to click on.  I could have done it, and I’m a professional.”

Kind of him to make me feel better about inviting every single person to whom I have ever sent an email to connect with me .  Think of what that would mean to you, of the hundreds of people with whom you’ve communicated over the life of your email account.

As I scanned down this list of acceptances, I saw all sorts of names I don’t recognize.  Do I know, have I ever known, someone named Tala?  Not that I remember.

One humorous response, a refusal to connect, came from Mehdi, with the polite message, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are.”

Mehdi, I don’t know who you are, either.

The ramifications for the vixen divorcee are unsettling.  Here they are, not necessarily in the order of angst they’ve caused me.

One:    Chet, who I told I didn’t want to see again and who returned Alphabet Juice, the book I gave him, received an invitation from me to be my LinkedIn friend.

Two:  Sylvia, the woman who professed deep love for me; who urged me to call anytime I needed her, even in the middle of the night, when I was in the deepest pit of divorce despair, and who, I subsequently learned, was my ex-husband, Alan’s, confidante throughout his affair, received an invitation from me.

Here’s the message she sent, “Georgia, I was thrilled to see your name in my inbox. I hope you are doing well.  I would love to “start again” if you’d like to as well. I think about you quite often. I look forward to hearing back from you.”

That would be a no.

Three:  I invited Alan’s mistress to connect with me on LinkedIn.

We were distantly acquainted before I learned of their relationship.  I’d sent her one email in my entire life.  That’s all it took.

Now she thinks I want to be her LinkedIn friend.

The mistress, as painted by Morris Kantor

Four:  John, who I went out with three times and then didn’t hear from again, responded.  Here are the ensuing emails:

Hi Georgia:  Just so you know, I haven’t done much with LinkedIn. I can’t even remember why I signed up 2 or 3 years ago.

I have been pretty busy with work and all. I spent the whole weekend trying to dig out of my backlog of house work here at home. The next mission will be to come up with something interesting that we can do in the near future. Do you have any free time this coming weekend?  John

Hi John:  You are an innocent victim of my LinkedIn debacle.  I don’t use it much either, only opened an account because I kept getting invitations to connect. I must have hit the wrong button last time I was exiting, because apparently everyone with whom I ever exchanged emails has now been invited to connect with me.  This is embarrassing.

 As it turns out, I’m busy this weekend.  While I enjoyed our time together, and you have many charming qualities, I don’t think we’re an easy fit.  My take on it is that getting together wouldn’t be the best use of our time.  Georgia

Hi Georgia:  I had a wonderful time and enjoyed your company much. I understand that we all can’t view things from the same perspective, but from my perspective all was quite pleasant. If you ever need a last minute escort to an interesting event, keep me in mind because if I’m available I would be more than happy to get reacquainted.  John

 Hi John:  Now I’m curious.  You write such pithy emails and they always catch my attention.

 So, here’s what I’m curious about.  If you had a wonderful time and enjoyed my company, why didn’t you get in touch again?  Georgia

I’m waiting for his answer.