Bridget's Cousin

I’ve titled this post “Bridget’s cousin” because I identify so much with the great Bridget Jones. I’m like Bridget Jones…only with less than half the success rate in everything I do. Maybe it’s down to my flirting…allow me to elaborate. I'm not good at flirting. I'm not a 'flirt'. I've never, ever purred seductively or whispered huskily. I've read a ton of trashy novels which have only helped to cement this opinion. Whilst fictional India may well be able to seduce fictional Ivan in a vowel like heaven with a bat of her eyelids, I cannot. Believe me, I've tried. I've tried...and I've failed.

Such is the extent of my inability to flirt that it reaches past the usual median of face to face conversation and wrecks my chances even when attempts are made through indirect communication. I am of course referring to texting and text flirting.

I've recently been engaging (or attempting to engage is probably a more accurate description) in some light-hearted “text flirting”. I'm officially crap at it, it's really not one of my talents and I'll be the first to admit it. I've recently looked back through some of my past outpourings and can't think of an occasion where I've cringed more. 

Yes, I know, everyone is terrible when they booze and text. No one is safe from humiliating themselves when alcohol is involved. I just seem to take it to a whole new level. Whilst recently engaging with some mild flirtation I somehow managed to deftly move the conversation away from anything remotely promising...and focus it upon politics. Then in a typically cack-handed attempt to bring it back around to something slightly more promising...ended a text with something along the lines of "anyway, I'm going to be voting Green next time! I like Green! My eyes are green...haha!"

I’m just going to allow this to sink in before I say…

WHAT. WHAT. WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME???? That's just a statement of FACT. It's like I'm filling in a driving license or applying for an identity card. That's the best I can do? How was the poor bastard even supposed to respond to that? "Green eyes turn me on etc etc" No. Because I'd think he was a freak and would never text him again. He clearly thought I was borderline insane as well, as wisely he didn't reply. Another one bites the dust. 

A friend of mine recently told me that when she was once engaging in the dizzy all consuming passion of romance, it was before mobile phones had yet to be invented...so her and her boyfriend were reduced to sending impassioned and seductive messages to each ones respective pager.

Does anyone remember pagers? I had one for a while, fuck knows why. The only messages I'd ever get were from my mum saying things like "You left your pencil case at home. LOL". (NB LOL in this instance I interpreted as "Lots of love" rather than, "you left your pencil case at home, lol fool." At least I hope my mother wasn't laughing at me, I'm not sure how savvy she is when it comes to "TXT SPK".

Anyway with pagers, you had to call up an operator, aka another human being and effectively dictate your message to them. They would then read it back to you, you'd grunt and it would be off into the electronic ether. CAN YOU IMAGINE, effectively calling up a total stranger and having to be all "Hello, yes, I'd like to send a page please...Ummm, I totally love you babez and wish you were here lol" or whatever the usual drivel is. Jesus I'm so glad I never endured anything like that. I hardly ever used my pager, I used to get my kicks from calling up the speaking clock and swearing at it before hanging up as fast as I could. They were pretty crazy days, I'll tell you. Maybe I should stick to communicating with the talking clock in future. At least there are limited chances of me humiliating myself? I can just foresee the chat:

"So whatcha up to tonight..?"

"The time now is 14:00 hours"

"Filthy"

Time to buy a cat.