Girl's Column: Violet de Capote Interne

The modern world of communication is no easy job for the girl about town, especially if, like me, you hate talking on the phone. Most of my life is organised on the internet: Gmail, Facebook, Outlook… I’ve got it pretty much down to an art form, except where it comes to men.

I’ve actually broken it off with guys who insist on an actual verbal conversation rather than extended text messaging or emails. It’s too much pressure without the option of ‘select all and delete’ if you’ve said something that accidently makes you sound shallow/xenophobic/a moron. Sarcasm isn’t as ‘fun and cheeky’ without an accompanying wink icon or ‘…’. However, written contact is not without its pitfalls.

My recent interest Mr DJ and I communicate mainly via http-based mediums. As my access is limited to either during work hours, or when I get in after a few drinks, it’s a bit of a gauntlet either way. My interaction can go from:

Hi,  attached is a link relating to a warehouse dubstep party this Saturday. Please respond as appropriate.

To

Hey, what’s on your mind this evening… ;-)

Over the course of a day. It can get to the point where I’m going from corporate assistant eater to Barbara Winsor in some kind of modern day ‘Carry on Mixing the Decks’. Though, it’s probably more fixable to deny all knowledge of what you’ve written with ‘oh, I left my computer online and my flatmate is so immature’ than to have to explain the very real sound of your own voice slurring excitably into their answer phone.

What did we do before the internet? Communicate effectively over the phone and take responsibility for our drunken antics? Surely not…