You know what, I actually really suck at being flirtatious. I either end up negging dudes out of autopilot wisecracking-modeness, or I give them the impression that they could totally take me home and do it to me right then and there, because I have no middle settings. This is a real problem, especially right now when I don’t want anyone to do it to me ever again because, you know, that ends in tears. Also because gah, so time-consuming and complicated and so much to think about! I hope I get over feeling like this soon; it’s a weird feeling and not one that I’ve ever, uh, felt before.
Anyway this is an example of how bad I am at flirting.
I walked into my corner coffeeshop today, where every staff member already knows me by name because I work from home and go there at least twice a day. The counter boy, who is Basque and who I guess I could imagine being cute if I, you know, was still capable of finding boys cute at all, was listening to Kate Bush, “Running Up That Hill.”
“You’re listening to Kate Bush!” I exclaimed. We talked about Kate for a while. “I think she’s better than Tori Amos,” he said. Uh, duh, that’s like saying that Kiss is better than MiniKiss. But whatever, he … likes Kate Bush! We talked about getting really high and listening to “The Dreaming” and trying to figure out what is up with that. Then I was like,
“You know, I feel like my exboyfriend is the only straight man alive who likes Kate Bush.”
The counter boy nodded.
“Oh, so you’re gay then, ” I said.
“No! No, I am not gay!” said the counter boy, looking wounded.
You know, if I only could’ve, I’d have made a deal with God and gotten him to swap our places. Heh.
