Suzanne Portnoy

Text messaging. Amongst my pet peeves - bad spelling/terrible grammar/fat guys over 40 who insist on wearing baggy shorts throughout the summer/shoes with rubber soles that are not trainers/the overuse of hair products - may I also add men that use text messaging as a replacement for real conversation. I have known quite a few in my time and it feels like I may have picked up another over the weekend. How I wish right now that all mobiles came supplied with nothing more than the ability to make a phone call from anywhere in the world. Looking at my phone, the inbox is full whilst the received call list shows only a handful of names.

It is hard for me to get excited about a man that prefers text messaging to the sound of a real voice. All subtlety is lost. My jokes fall flat. And, most importantly of all, I can’t hear the divine voice of the man who, on this particular occasion, is sending the text.

When I think back to the best relationships of the last few years they all have one thing in common. There wasn’t much texting going on. I’m not a high maintenance kind of chick but I think a daily phone call is a common courtesy if one wants to get a relationship past the ‘fuck buddy’ stage. I recall one boyfriend who used to ring at exactly 12.30pm every day just to say ‘hello.’ A little obsessive perhaps but I enjoyed the regularity. Another rang five times a day or more but he really was obsessed with me. Then there was one who said he didn’t want to be my boyfriend but rang me daily anyway. I never figured out quite what that was about.

My fuck buddies, on the other hand, are notable for the lack of texting in our relationship. Any more than one or two (except as a kind of horny foreplay) and I’d be concerned. I’ve grown used to sending the occasional, ‘What are you doing tomorrow morning?’ and getting the reply back, ‘Fucking you.’ It’s short and satisfying.

This in-between situation - lots of texting but no fucking - is deeply unsatisfying. Then again, I could just be suffering from three day post great sex come-down. I’m on the hormonal rollercoaster that always follows a particularly intimate session with someone I really like. One day I’m flying high, the next I’m a little low. In this case, our reunion was long overdue so the after shock is lingering. I comfort myself by knowing that I’ll be right as rain by the weekend … as long as he stops texting and starts ringing.

I’ll be speaking at the London Festival of Literature this Saturday night as part of a session called ‘Dirty Books’ along with Mathilde Madden, amongst others. You can still book tickets here.  Just looked at the seating plan and there are about 10 seats left!  Now I’m getting nervous…