When I first met my future husband, way back in 1986, I would hope to run into him on campus. If that happened, I would do the best I could to drop every hint that a phone call would be nice. Welcomed even. And oh, he was good. He would call on a Thursday, after days of me emotionally pacing around my apartment. Old-fashioned me would never consent to call him.
Now I don't only call and flirt in the middle of the day, but I send little smoochy face messages like this.
And then later we usually kiss.
Much better than the dance of '86.