Flirting for Sidewinders

You got that right, my homey.  Now get your eyebrows in ready-go mode, because as it turns out, I’m one of them.

Always having touted myself as ridiculously honest, I was surprised one day to find me pulling the wool over my own eyes.  I had marched like a troop on orders to the Employee Dining Room, and upon entering, a cloak of grace fell from the heavens and I was Miss Alabama in an evening gown, gliding across the floor wanting nothing more than world peace, and to eradicate hungry children (or something like that) and for that guy over there to look at me.  Not just notice.  Look.  I was about to give the performance of a lifetime, playing myself in “Me, the Package”, and I wanted him to catch every mouth watering morsel.  I mean, moment.  Every mesmerizing moment.  Oh, and there was about to be some mesmerization up in here, y’all.

But where was my audience? I wasn’t quite sure if he was over there or over there or not even in here, oh golly.  Having not mastered the art of aloof room scanning, I ironically did what other people do when stuck on a Game Show…  I phoned a friend, which gives me the opportunity to bullshit importantly while gazing about nonchalantly.  Sometimes I’ll laugh, and it’s the kind of laugh, were he but here to hear it, that he would surely want to hear everyday of his life, starting now.  And then, through the twinkling of Oscar-worthy mirth, my eyes lock on target.  It’s go time, honey.  Miss Alabama is back, sidling demurely over to the coffee bar.  The sash and world peace remain, but the gown has got to go because it’s Pants Time.

Once upon the coffee bar, I glance over my shoulder like I’m about to toss a quarter into the fountain in Rome and then, poor unsuspecting bastard… Whabam!  Check the left cheek while I put a little cream in my coffee.  That’s right, now let me turn just slightly this way, and Ahoy matey, she stands astern!  Oh yes, Adam took a bite of this apple and now everybody has to go to church.  Now that I have his attention, like a well brought up Southern girl, I turn the other cheek.  Mama told me it’s the right thing to do.  Whappow!  I certainly hope my gentleman friend is catching the show, ’cause it’s all kinds of tiring putting Miss Alabama in hypnotic ass pants while still holding on to a world peace please smile.

Earlier this week I had been afforded the opportunity to stand within earshot of him while sprinkling my conversation with important words that could only leave him awestruck at my staggering intelligence.  So, package complete, and coffee in hand, I turn to exit stage left.  Gotta make this good.  The best actress can convey a mountain of meaning, without ever opening her mouth.  And I’m all over mountains.  I mean, meaning.  And once again, I’m sidling, less demure, more provocateur this time.  I glance over at him, shyly smile in his direction but not too specifically, pop the door with my hip and I’m gone.  He’s a puddle in the floor, I’m sure of it.  He poured right out of his chair and under the table.  His friends are stepping in him.  He didn’t want me to go.  But I did.  And now he’s all wimpy and sad.

But he’ll live.  I’ll torture him again tomorrow.  His heart is like a Gummi Bear.  Soft and bouncey.  He’s like a cat toy.  And I’m an evil cat with cruel intentions.  But I never knew it until now.  I’m a sneaky, side-winding bitch cat who pretends she wants coffee when what she really wants is attention.  It’s embarrassing.

When I realized what I was up to, it was quite the revelation.  I have always considered myself to be stupidly honest, and never, ever, ever (!) a flirt.  Never.  At first, I was trying to figure out what to do about it… how to bring honesty to the situation.  Do I burst into the Employee Dining Room and make an announcement?  “Attention!  I’m having a great hair day, and I’ve got my good butt pants on today.  I am not here to get coffee, though I’m going to get some because I’m addicted to caffeine.  My true reason for being here is that I want that extremely handsome man over there to want me.  I do not want a relationship with this man, I just want him to desire me passionately.  Not like a stalker, but like, one step down from that.  Or maybe two, depending on what that means to him.  I don’t want to know what that means to him, or what anything means to him.  I just want him to want me, and to convey that through meaningful glances.  Thank you, please continue eating your crappy meal.”

See?  Stupidly honest.  I’ve settled for leaving public announcements to the professionals and naughty celebrities.  I’m going to focus on being honest with myself.  If I’m going to get coffee and smile at the cute guy, then that’s what I’m doing.  Now that I know I kind of view him as a toy, I feel okay with some light-hearted flirting.  I don’t have to lie to myself anymore.  I’m going to flirt out in the open.  And I’m okay with that.  And based on the cute smiles we exchanged yesterday, I think he is too.

For Demure Sidling lessons, please hit me up at blagiddyblog@gmail.com.  JK.  Just purse your lips, shrug one shoulder up, then slither.  But I don’t recommend it.