There has been much debate over whether or not people flirt with me, and my relative ability to reciprocate. I explained the hypothesis to Ana and she brushed it off with a brusque People are flirting with you. Pay attention!
So I did, checking with Ana for expert advice along the way. In the course of one week I recognized two pickup attempts, and at least four people overtly flirting (and that is a conservative count verified by Ana; the number of presumed but unproven is higher).
I found this quite puzzling. I have approximately the same clothes, hair, spectacles, lipstick; nothing about my appearance has changed, but people are interacting with me in a substantially different way. Various friends suggest that the flirting has always happened and that I just failed to notice.
Historically this is perhaps true, in limited circumstances, when I already knew and loved the person. I’ve certainly never lacked friends, suitors, or conquests, even when I wanted to be alone. But something in my manner has changed in the last year. I am more tolerant of ambiguity, and willing to talk to strangers. Do I know how to flirt? According to impartial witnesses, yes. Do I practice the skill? Rarely – and judiciously. To summarize: this year I have become almost friendly.
One night we went to see DJ Laura at the Crescent, a bar I had never been to previously. We arrived late, after the crowd was uniformly wasted, and my ass was patted by strangers more times than…. well, ever; strangers have never previously dared touch me.
At some point a drunk girl grabbed my arms and tried to make me dance. I protested that I don’t know how but she started shoving me around and grinding, and when I failed to have rhythm she took offense. I had to kiss her cheek and gently shove her off on other partners.
Just before closing Byron and Jeff took the floor to sing a duet of Feel Like Making Love:
Jeff threw a dinner party in our honor and a whole crowd of people turned up. I was, of course, delighted to see old acquaintances and make so many new friends. Xin and Niki both emailed that they couldn’t make it, and of course many of the Bus Stop bartenders were working, but Holly Chernobyl, Shannon, Ramona, Matt, David, Jessie, Sarah, Darlene, Sheila, Julia, Lynnette, Joey, Zoe, Kristi, Laura, the Sexy Mailman, and very tall Mark all turned out, along with others I’ve forgotten or did not get a chance to talk to.
I was particularly pleased by the opportunity to hang out with Ade; there are very few people in the world who can laugh at my wicked stories (the ones I will never publish), fewer still who have stories to offer in return.
We talked and talked and the party pulsed and the guests consumed astonishing quantities of alcohol. Ana went to bed long before the guests left as there were neither lumberjacks nor bad boys present; Byron locked himself in his room at two in the morning; and Jeff kept pouring champagne into my cup until my brain went fuzzy.
The raucous antics upset the upstairs neighbors, who tried to intimidate us by filming the scene, until Holly screamed Do you want to see my pussy? at the camera.