I lifted up the windscreen wiper on Dawn’s car. I slipped in a note and quickly let the wiper go, slapping the note to the windscreen.
“What does it say?” a perm-haired Dawn was right behind me surveying and somewhat delighted to bust me.
That was 1992. It was a note to see what she was up to over the weekend. I hiked up my jeans, smoothed over my fringe which had taken up residence over my eyes and laughed nervously.
Today we text, yesterday we used to write. What will happen tomorrow? Osmosis thought?
Back 18 years, we would have surveyed the opposite or same sex if you will, with stealth. It was sexy, trying not to get caught out. Reaching out to touch someone on the dancefloor required CIA intelligence.
Today, it’s a different story.
I was at the Bank Hotel recently with Rosanna and instead of smoothing hair out of my eyes, I was making sure I had no gaps in my cocky locks, while wriggling my shorts down to my hips.
I was intermittently talking to another mate who seemed distracted but listening. I looked down and he had Grindr chewing up his hand. I giggled and checked out the guy he was looking at.
How far we have come. My drivel was probably killing his brain cells, however, his grinding was blunting his sense of the hunt.
I have no problem with change, nor do I judge how people meet, it’s the way we do it now that can make it awkward. You’re not talking to your mate walking down the street with frozen yoghurt hanging off your lip while you slip a note under someone’s car windscreen wiper.
It’s certainly instant gratification era. In 200 years, historians will probably look back and laugh at us, but today we seem to want everything right now. Immediately even. Some things are meant to be waited for, even if you don’t know it right away.
As he walked into the café the other day, I picked up my phone and silenced it. After all, you just never know when you’ll meet Mr Right instead of Mr Right Now.
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