One of the things I find really fascinating is that I haven’t seen the handwriting of any of the men that I have dated since my divorce. Not one of them. I’ve received numerous texts and emails from lovers, but not one of them has ever sent me a card or given me a handwritten love note. It’s really not that odd of a thing: in our modern world, most communication is done through digital means.
To me, this phenomenon seems stranger, though, because I haven’t seen any other random samples of their handwriting like grocery lists or notes to themselves lying around their houses. Perhaps that’s because many people rely on digital apps on their phones to take care of these items, though I still use good old paper and pen for them.
I’ve actually never seen any of them write a check because we rarely do that now, too, in favor of credit and debit cards. Even when guys are signing credit card receipts, I haven’t seen their signatures because our culture dictates that we don’t look at what other people are putting for tips on their receipts so we avert our eyes while others are paying.
To me, it feels like I’ve missed so much about my partners just because of this one simple thing: I’ve never seen their handwriting. I’ve seen their cocks. I’ve seen their naked bodies. Some of them have even let me see their souls. But not one of them has shown me their handwriting.
It’s an odd world we live in.