It has come to my attention recently that a possible reason
for my perpetual single-hood and decent towards a Bridget Jones lifestyle is
probably my inability to flirt for love nor money. Put me near a half-attractive man and I automatically
start to ooze awkwardness from every pore.
Now, as demonstrated by the two previous blog posts, I am a
fan of a glass of wine or two. This post refers not to the hideous flirt
monster I turn into after said wine, but to the ineptness of my sober, daytime
man-pursuits. It’s all very well managing to talk to men and get a free drink in
the pub, but these men are usually simply trying to get into your knickers,
which really isn't the goal at present.
Recently, there have been a couple of incidents where this
complete lack of flirting finesse has resulted in me completely failing at
life.
Exhibit A: Hot Bookshop Man.
There is a guy that works in Waterstones close to where I
work who is really rather lovely to look at and seems to be rather interesting
on the personality front at well. If I were a confident and forward individual,
I would have snapped up his number and already gone on a lovely date with him.
However, me being me, this has not yet happened (obvs). What has happened
instead is that I have hung around the bookshop on a few lunch breaks like some
creepy stalker, buying books that I don’t really need for a fee far exceeding
what I could have spent on the same books on Amazon.
Last Friday was one such lunch break, during which I decided
to buy a book by Dan Brown, called ‘The Lost Symbol’. I didn't need to buy it –
I’m reading the Game of Thrones series which is really enough to be getting on
with. I went to the till to buy said book, and in my haste and with my giant
handbag, I sent the big orange comments box flying across the desk. I fumbled
my apologies to Hot Bookshop Man and tried to look at him in a flirtatious way. I think I must
have just looked like I had something wrong with me. He said ‘I wouldn't count
on it not happening again’ (in relation to my ridiculous clumsiness) and on the
way out of the bookshop, this is exactly what happened. The box, once again,
got caught between my bag and god-knows-what and pretty much ended up on the
floor. Miranda comes to mind. No number and hot romantic date for me. Well done
Laura, you clearly have the ‘allure’.
Exhibit B – Hot Man on Train
A little while back, I boarded a train to Portsmouth. For
some reason, the train was crazy busy and there were very few seats. This being
the case, I ended up sitting next to someone, which I usually find really quite
irritating as I like to spread out my stuff and make myself at home. However,
on this occasion, I wasn't irritated at all. In fact, I was really rather happy
with my lot. Sat next to me was Mr Fit. Tall, dark haired and athletic. What
more could I have asked for? This would have been the perfect opportunity for
me to get my flirt on, had I been anyone else but me. What I did instead was
spend the entire journey with my headphones in, every so often admiring him out
of the corner of my eye, all the while looking completely unapproachable.
I updated my Facebook status proclaiming his attractiveness like a complete
saddo, but didn't actually speak to the guy. Once again, no date for Laura.
In conclusion, what I think I need is an intervention. I
need someone to get me out of the unfortunate habit of appearing deeply
unattractive around very attractive men. I need someone to help me regain what
I think I may once have had, flirt-skill wise, in the past and have now completely
lost. I need Gok Wan to give me a swift slap to snap me out of it before I die alone and am eaten by Alsatians.
Help!
(Apologies for the lack pictures in this post - would have been even more stalker/weirdo of me to take pictures in these situations!)
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