Tonight I accompanied my friend outside on a cigarette break. (I don’t smoke; he does.) What I saw didn’t shock me. See, there’s this dude who occasionally winds up singing while playing a guitar and staring up at his girlfriend’s window. Her window isn’t too far from my window. He mixes it up–a little Sinatra, a little James Blunt, a little Johnny Mathis, a little Matchbox Twenty. His musical selections are quite eclectic. And he plays a mean guitar.
Tonight’s saga ended with his girlfriend running downstairs in curlers, yelling at him…then making out with him…then lots of kissy-face…then they vanished upstairs. I’ll let your imagination finish that story.
They’re oddly mesmerizing. They yell about money a lot–sounds like he has none and she’s not happy about it–but they’re crazy in love. You know that kind of crazy-in-love you can see? Well, they have it. I have to give them that.
But a few minutes after they left, I got to thinking. This is probably the only guy I’ve ever seen serenade his girlfriend like that in New York City. Then I started thinking about my male friends and old boyfriends. What happened to the guys who would risk making complete fools of themselves by singing to you outside your window? Are they a dying breed? Or a dead one?
I guess I’m a sucker for some of that stuff. Texting is easy. Emails are easy. Grabbing a guitar and singing outside someone’s window is freakin’ hard. And potentially humiliating. You have to be pretty crazy about someone to do that.
Have men gotten lazy? Have we helped them get there? Why sing outside someone’s window when you can shoot over a text? Is that where we’re at?
Call me nuts, but sometimes I like a little crazy-in-love. You don’t have to play guitar outside my window (although I do fancy Sinatra tunes). But if you love me, then showing it shouldn’t always be so easy.
The girl’s either worth the trouble to you or she’s not.
Ladies, every now and then–make them prove it.
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