The other night I was having a good old chat with a good old mate over a pint down at the pub.
I was lost in the discussion which mainly touched upon: how I blubbered endlessly at Gordon Brown’s emotional quitting speech; how we thought it grand of him to shoulder all the responsibility for the loss of his party; how Sky News’ Adam Boulton is a bully and how the guy looks like he’s always sleeping on the wrong side of the bed; and how to pronounce ‘Eyjafjallajokull’, the name of the Icelandic volcano, seeing as my friend, stuck on the island, had been swearing at it quite a wee bit. All in all, brilliant topics for these jolly interesting times we’re living in.
Half way through the evening of non-stop chattering, my friend exclaimed: “Christ! Kris, you know you haven’t even looked up one time to scan the room and see if there are any guys to, you know, flirt a bit.”
My flabbergasted response to that was “Uh?!”
Well, reader, I got a ticking off because apparently as a singleton, I’m missing out on the fun if I don’t flirt. Of course, I told said friend to bugger off. It’s not that I am a hard-punch-on-the-shoulder, high-fiving ladette, it’s just that frankly, I like to concentrate on immediate company and not spend the evening looking over my shoulders for potential suitors.
But that was till the friend set a dare: “I dare you to come here one evening and see if you get at least three guys chatting to you and buying you a drink.” At stake was lunch at my favourite and most unaffordable restaurant on the island. Did you hear my sharp intake of breath? Yes, and dammit I shook hands on it.
“But, but,” I stammered, “I can’t flirt”. So I got a quick tutorial on the flirting basics: apparently after the looking/scanning/identifying thing I’d have to keep eye contact and toss my glossy mane about a la shampoo ads, while blinking and winking and smiling seductively at the same time. I tried it. I came across as someone with multiple facial tics.
“Erm, perhaps it’s best if you buy GQ.” You see, he is happily married to my closest girlfriend but admitted that before that he used to read Cosmo just to try and figure out the ‘Venus’ species. But he was confident about the dare, because his theory was that most guys feel threatened by my assertive behaviour.
Again I said: “Uh?!” As you can see, it was the end of conversation as we know it, I was stuck on a loop of grunts. He said I look like one who knows what she wants (Ha! Joke of the year), will take no non-sense and is independent (Err, hello? Should back to the bashful-maiden days?).
Honestly, I muttered, the next day as I reached out for the lad and chic mags on the shelves. Hilarious, I noted, as I jotted down the top ten most priceless flirt actions:
1. Rub your shoulder like you have a painful crick, then gently sigh.
2. Walk past him, then slowly swivel your head halfway toward him, rest your chin on your shoulder and smile.
3. Pull your hair loose from a ponytail holder or clip so he can watch your touchable tresses fall around your face.
4. Grin and hold his gaze for three seconds, then bite the corner of your lip and look down.
5. As a fella brushes by you, stop him in his tracks by saying, "Wow, you smell great."
6. Toy and twirl with your hair so he’ll think you’re nervous and therefore potentially interested.
7. At a grocery store, ask him to help you reach the orange juice on the high shelf.
8. At a restaurant, ask if you can borrow his salt shaker - even if you have to cross the room to get it.
9. Flash both eyebrows: a quick up, down, not a one-sided Roger Moore leer.
10. Find your inner magnificence, imagine you’re a goddess and behave like one.
Gulp. Is this for real? I’m resigned to scoring a minus D in flirting techniques. I think I’d much rather bump into Adam Boulton - on live telly - and blow him a raspberry.
So, if you’re ever out and see a girl who’s lost in deep conversation, (you’ll know me, I’ll be sketching on napkins to illustrate a point) and who at first glance might scare you away, please don’t be. Come over. Get us a drink. I believe in equality, I’ll get you another one back. I just need three of you anyway. I have to win that dare.
The volcano is ‘ay-yah-fyah-plah-yer-kuh-duhl’, by the way. Go on, say it.
Published in The Sunday Times of Malta May 16, 2010
