12:24 AM…Twenty Nine Days and Counting…
A most exquisite eve with pals. An area in Phoenix known for its shops and restaurants took a little hit with the meltdown a while back. Lost some of its shops but, dolls, it’s back. Need proof? Try to get a seat at Movie In the Park night.
Movie fare, shopping fare and people fare. A larger gathering than we expect, the lawn is filled to the brim. People on blankets, some in chairs, some just hanging. Some bring snacks. A couple is bonding over pizza. I imagine a thermos or two filled with spirits but behavior would indicate no such thing. There are better movie manners here, in a little grass square, than in most theaters.
Maybe all the class and sass onscreen provides inspiration. The night’s offering: To Catch A Thief, the 1955 Hitchcock romantic thriller. We bring a blanket but arrive later than we should. Well before the movie starts, the lawn is filled. We must scatter our blanket right up front. All the better to see you with my pretty.
Cary Grant, the world’s most perfect man, offers both eye and manners candy. And clothing candy. And accent candy. It’s not quite English and not quite American. Tip to all my guys: master this. The cadence and delivery will prove effective in, well, anything you might be after. Promise.
The mind wanders. Do men consider what they say and how they say it? Do women? Think about it. Do we consider our voice delivery and the importance of our words? Did Grant? Or was he simply the recipient of a natural gift which served as an advantage? Trust me. It’s not just time differential. It’s something more.
When did we stop recognizing the importance of a perfectly placed word, a phrase or the smallest hand gesture? The grasp of a wrist. The look when someone speaks. The pull you in for a long, slow kiss in a car when what’s been said captures the heart? Perhaps when we started texting lol’s and sending naked selfies?
When did we forget words carefully chosen have far greater impact than words spoken loudly? I wonder how many men, and women, realize the level of seduction that could be accomplished with a carefully chosen phrase, lowered voice and heart stopping cadence? How civilized.
Old fashioned flirting is served as expectation between a woman and a man. What the hell happened to that? And the clothes–Good Lord, swoon worthy. There isn’t a dress Grace Kelly wears I would not gladly don, and it’s over fifty years later. Ditto for Grant and his perfectly tailored flannel trousers. Good God men, what are you wearing? The last really well-dressed man I saw, well, it was The Norwegian.
Niceties. Let’s make a pact. Let’s step it up on the everyday package. We know you clean up well. But what happened to everyday? Dress up. Perk up. Flirt Up. Work a little harder at your outdoor self and see if your indoor self doesn’t reap the rewards. And dolls, perhaps if we demand he dress a little better, he’ll take off the damn ball cap and look like a gentleman. Grey flannel trousers can’t be far behind. Squee.