If love be the food for the soul, back in the days, the love letter used to be the soul train express. Men, fresh from losing the war on gender equality, were subjected to the excruciating pain of penning down their feelings, in an attractive calligraphic hand, with the sweetest of words, woven around impossible promises, like “I will cross the pacific ocean for you.”
The paper had to be a feminine pink, decorated with flowery designs all over which heart-shaped objects had to be drawn. A few bougainvillea petals would be sprinkled here and there, plus a few sprays of cheap fragrance. I gather the idea was to impress the senses of smell, sight, and touch.
Among the gullible teenagers, the cupid games were more severe, more gushing. You needed talent to impress a woman. You have to feel for the brothers whose God-given talents did not lie in the art of organising words into simple but effective lies like, “God must have spent a little time on you!”
So they just copied the lyrics of “romantic” rhythm and blue songs or paid those who were able to write the whole thing up for them, with goodies. That is why I fail to understand when people say the cell phones are a woman’s best friend.
True, women fuss over those little machines, like one would with a lover. But even more true is that the small machine made the business of wooing a hell lot easier for all the men folk.
First, the love letter goes through the window and the text message promptly comes to save the situation. “I love you too” becomes a brief, detached, “I luv u 2.”
The woman gets to hear what she wants to hear, the man walks away scot-free, without the unnecessary baggage of faking emotion. Trust new technology, it always comes with new problems.
There is this guy I know, who has a live-in girlfriend and a fiancée who works in another city, to make a perfect romantic dilemma.
Problem is fiancée prefers to make her lover dovey chitchat late in the night when Guy is in close proximity of live-in girlfriend. So what does Guy do? He saves fiancée’s number as “mummy.”
Being the mummy’s boy that Guy is, naturally every round about eleven pm, “mummy” flashes so mother and son can do some family tête-à-tête.
Live-in-girlfriend is keen to show “love” for future mother-in-law (Please!), understands why Guy cannot mention her yet.
“It’s not the right time, darling,” he says. “After all, I already live with you.” So when “mummy” flashes late in the night, and Guy hesitates to call back, live-in-girlfriend goes into a fit.
“For heaven’s sake, this is your mother wanting to talk to you.”
Guy smiles and thanks God for the little mercies of the cell phone, shortcuts live-in-girlfriend by going local when fiancée gets too deep, mother and son are talking in the language she used to bring him up.
So till Guy thinks of how he is going to sort out fiancée and live-in-girlfriend situation, everybody is happy, life is good. Warning: Please, don’t try this at home!