Love in the 90's
Bullshit in the 2000's... (or what I did on Thursday night)
Boy (via text message)- What r u up to?
Robyn- Watching Bringing up Baby.
Boy- Huh?
Robyn- It's a Katherine Hepburn picture
Boy- Come to ___.
Robyn- It's 1am. I can't.
Boy- That's stupid. Come out.
Robyn- Sorry, I'm tired. (and frankly, after watching Cary Grant all night, you're going to look like pretty lame anyway.)
Gah. I don't know which is more terrible- the term "hunk" being at all acceptable, or the fact that this particular text message conversation has taken place more times and with more dudes than I can possibly name. Occasionally more than once a night. Also, have had four or five conversations with the ladies this week in which I have advised, "If he's only calling you at one am, he is not all that interested in your sparkling personality or witty conversational abilities. Promise." Which is always easier to say than it is to remember.
This is the thing- in order for me to put forth the effort tear myself out of my warm bed and away from Cary Grant and then get myself gussied up quickly, the dude has got to be pretty damned awesome. If he is texting me at one am, and cannot get it together to plan a day ahead of time, he is, clearly, not all that awesome. Or at least not all that well mannered. So I stay in bed. Call me lazy or whatever, that's just how I feel.
Song For One of The Girls
Here in my heart I am Helen;
I'm Aspasia and Hero, at least.
I'm Judith, and Jael, and Madame de Stael;
I'm Salome, moon of the East.
Here in my soul I am Sappho;
Lady Hamilton am I, as well.
In me Recamier vies with Kitty O'Shea,
With Dido, and Eve, and poor Nell.
I'm of the glamorous ladies
At whose beckoning history shook.
But you are a man, and see only my pan,
So I stay at home with a book.
-Mrs. Parker.
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