Jeffrey postulates that the reason I am so obtuse about flirting is simple: I do not know how to accept compliments.
This is true. I was thirty years old when Ariel pointed out that furrowing my brow, or clapping both hands over my face, or ducking under the nearest table was not the best response to praise. I asked her what I should do instead. She sighed and said Smile. Say thank you.
I’ve been practicing ever since, and getting progressively better, particularly with sartorial subjects and at public events. What I can’t handle, still, is the big stuff. When something really good happens I do not jump up and down; I retire to my sickbed and moan.
When the fact that the Orion contract was real hit me — approximately two months after the sale — I was standing in the road in front of the college where Oliver Cromwell’s head is buried. I burst into tears (a rare event generally, and an absolute taboo in public) and wailed Why can’t my life be like a John Denver song?
The meaning of that sentiment is obscure even to me, but can probably be translated as Why can’t I have a simple, ordinary, normal life?
Though as far as that goes, John Denver might not be a very good role model.