Bring Back the Front Porch and Mint Juleps

by Amy on February 1, 2011 · 0 comments

February, the month of hearts and romance and love and cupid — old-fashioned notions that hardly seem to have a place in today’s buy-it-online, instant-gratification-craving world.  What better time to revisit those days B.I. (Before the Internet) and consider how two people ever found love without the assistance of an app and nimble texting fingers?


B.I.:  During a minuet as you brush by him.

Now: Browsing through a series of snapshots and stats in a computer database.


B.I.: Obsessively asking every mutual acquaintance, “What’s he really like?  Is he good to his mother?  But what was he like in high school?”

Now: Obsessively combing Facebook and Google and his blog for every detail from his Social Security Number to his kindergarten GPA to what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning.


B.I.: The front porch swing, the moon and the stars, two mint juleps, a flirtatious conversation, leaving him wanting, waiting…until we meet again.

Now: Flirtatious comments on each other’s Facebook status updates, spending half an hour picking the perfect emoticon to text him exactly how you feel.


B.I.: On the third date, for the first time, at your front door when he drops you off, with a kiss that makes you woozy.

Now: On the first meeting, after one martini too many, he’s not so amazing in the harsh reality of the morning after, and, anyway, he probably won’t give you a chance now that he knows what you look like with yesterday’s eyeliner…too much information too soon…next, please.

I guess we modern girls are lucky that we can sit around on our couches and shop for our mate without lifting so much as a mascara wand, that we don’t have to wait until the object of our affection reaches the top of our dance card to make our move.  I don’t know, though, I kind of prefer browsing for new books on shelves rather than on a computer screen, leisurely reading the description on the inside flap, studying the quotes from other authors on the back, flipping through it and reading half a chapter in the middle, inhaling its new-book smell, running my fingers over the bright cover design, pondering a bit, is this a book I won’t be able to put down?

I guess I’m just old-fashioned that way.

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