The art of flirting
I’ve never been great at flirting. I’ve gotten better at it, but it’s not like I could teach a master class or anything. Flirting, to me, is like announcing through a megaphone “I LIKE YOU! DO YOU LIKE ME BACK?” There’s a chance they may not.
One winter morning, years ago, I was walking my sweet black lab Zaida before heading off to work. We took our usual route along the path that leads to a bridge over the river. I once saw an enormous buck swim across that river, and effortlessly lope up the bank on the other side. It was a beautiful sight.
It was cold, the path was snowy, and I was bundled up in my long, brown winter coat and hat. As we reached the turn-around point, I knew I was running late. “OK, Zaida, let’s pick up the pace,” I said as we jogged along.
A figure approached on the path ahead. As we got closer, I could see that it actually was two figures - a person and a dog. Closer still…actually, it was a man and a dog. Actually, it was an attractive man and a dog. I gave myself a silent pep talk: “OK, you’ve been looking for opportunities to take risks in this department, you need to do this.” So I struck up a conversation. (💡Tip: having a dog makes it super easy to talk to someone else who has a dog.) I was doing my best to laugh, show my light-hearted side, and be cute. We chatted for a few minutes, and went our separate ways.
As I jogged off, I thought, “I’ll bet he thought you were cute. Good for you, Becky, you took a chance!” I felt a proud, warm glow spread through me for facing my fear and moving past it, for stepping forward for myself, for saying, this is me. I may not be perfect, but I like me. And I’ll be OK if you don’t like me back. And even though we didn’t exchange numbers, and we’d probably never bump into each other again, I felt good. Until…(insert sound of record scratch)…what was that smell?
As I looked down at my coat in horror, I saw large, brown, paintball-esque splotches absolutely covering me from hip to knee! The dog poop bag I carried had ruptured as it slapped against me while jogging. I had been flirting with that guy with poop all over me…POOP! For a fleeting moment, I thought maybe he hadn’t noticed. My coat was brown, after all….Nope, he had noticed.
And just like that, my horror turned into laughter. Genuine, out-loud, raucous laughter. This is classic me. These absurd situations that I seem to find myself in remind me of an I Love Lucy episode, where I’m always Lucy. And the absurdity of it all just made me like myself even more, somehow. And even though I didn’t get the guy in the end, like in a Hallmark movie, I still felt like I had won. I had won me.
The prize is not getting the man/woman/person - it’s you. Wonderful, messy, glorious you. Learning to love yourself, no matter what, is the ultimate prize. Plus, I now had a funny story to tell when I got to work.
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