Dating and texting men
On our third date, he proposed something unexpected. ” We were sitting on the floor of his living room on one of the first warm nights of spring, plates of grilled chicken thighs, Greek salad, buttery pita, and garlicky tzatziki balanced in our laps. Recently, I’d noticed a pattern in my dating habits. If we needed something in between from one another — even if that was just to say hello—we would call.I sipped my wine, and was, perhaps, slightly buzzed. I’d meet someone, and next thing I knew, we were texting more frequently than I text my best friends. We would keep texting to logistics, like if one of us was running late, or if we needed the other to pick something up a key ingredient, like limes for the gin and tonics or American cheese for the burgers, on the way over.
Phone calls, for me, are scheduled events between business associates or people who need to have a Serious Conversation of some sort.
I’ve spent a lot of years being afraid of what would happen if someone could tell I was fumbling for what to say, or if I accidentally revealed exactly what was on my mind.
But I’m learning that those moments are called vulnerability, and that when other people witness them, it helps them know you better.
For a certain micro-generation of us, a text’s true function is mostly to deliver a bit of subtext: So when, a month after we’d met, he told me he’d been feeling under the weather lately and his texts slowed to a halting trickle, I did what I thought I had to: I took the hint.
When he took a whole day to respond to a text, I thought, , and made a point to let his last text message dangle there, suspended in the no-response void, the way mine had.
And like lots of folks my age, I think of lively and steady-flowing text banter as the hallmark of — hell, maybe even the of — a promising new relationship.