Some people find flirting so easy. I know this, because I see some of my friends and people I know ‘in action’. Also because I go out at night – but not all the time, silly. I see girls whipping their booties back and forth in front of a drunk and very pleased guy. I see them rubbing their crotch against someone’s pants. On the other corner, there’s this two people who didn’t know each other 5 minutes ago and are now eating each others faces. While these people are doing their thing, I am either contemplating my life with a glass of something, or death staring and incredibly cute guy 3197 miles away. Or, I’m just awkwardly dancing there, hoping to have someone come up to me, sweep me off my feet and take me to a magical castle by a pumpkin-turned-into-a-carriage. But it never happens because my dance is too cool for them and they get intimidated. Aha.
Yes, the last part was a lie. Actually, leaving the bar alone proves you’re not a flirt. I don’t know if you should feel happy or sad for that, but anyhow; Congratulations!
Congratulations because instead of dancing with both legs opened wide and your undies flashing to everyone in the club, you cross them and drink a glass of wine and chose to be classy. Instead of coming up to that guy you’ve been death staring for hours, you chose to dance with your drunk friend with her ass up in someone’s pants. Say hello to being a third wheel. Also, Congratulations for realizing that you could possibly live with 72 cats and die alone, than waking up to that cute guy you’ve been death staring at a bar, 50 years ago.
This kind of comparison is very identical and distinguished, as I still act like a 14-year old fangirling over Jesse McCartney – on the TV. I touch my hair all the time and ‘fix’ it. I twirl my hair around and pull it like I’m a 4th grader reporting what we did last meeting. Sometimes I wish it was still possible to ask your friend to tell a guy you like that you like him and he will not judge you for it, because this, my friend, is scary and difficult.
I’ve read about eye contact, and that it’s like the best and easiest way you can take a head’s up on flirting. But eye contact just basically means ‘I want to rub my nose all over your Petroleum Jelly-soaked body’ to me. And trust me, it’s not as hot as you think it is. Sometimes, well most of the time, I try to have a ‘successful’ eye contact with a guy and it usually goes something like this: stare for .5 seconds, look away, notice that he looked back at me, probably not really at me but somewhere around me and panic that he might actually noticed you staring at him. And, girls and boys, that is NOT how you have an eye contact to someone. That is also not how you lure them into you. So if you’re going to ask me for flirting advice, don’t even bother.
And if – by any chance that I am drunk and gathered enough courage to talk ‘normally’ to a guy, normal to me is actually the opposite of the English word. It’s not a surprise that my smile goes from ear to ear with my full set of teeth just flashing at you, seductively. I twist around, knees would start to weaken and I spill drinks on everyone. Not a very good look, I suppose.
But it goes out of the bars as well. I’m not a fan of flirty text messages because I don’t want to sit there and act like it’s a tea party and giggle the whole time I’m staring at my phone. Also because I hate texting, it stresses my fingers. I’m also not a fan of hugs because hugs are confusing. I also hate winks, because winks from old people are weird and creepy.
I guess that’s the thing about flirting, you never know whether they’re flirting or just giving a compliment. There’s a difference.
That point I’m making is this; I’m not good at flirting, because I hate flirting. That or I just hate rejection. I’m not freaking Angelina Jolie, people. Which maybe also explains why I’m still single. Whatever.