Work Diary: on being hit-on


flirting is truly a great occupation to undertake.
Now, why would I pull your leg? I AM a living testament. A guru. I was born to do this. I am a Libran!

{need I say more?}

Anyways, I was hit-on last week. In the most inappropriate setting and circumstances by the most unsuspecting person.

I played hostess. I was nervous. I’ve not done this before (not, about being a hostess, but about hosting such an event). I was certain the roomful of people who had given up their time based on only one promise: ‘fun‘, will see through me. Will be disappointed.

First, ‘fun’ is hardly in my vocabulary.
Skeptical. cynical. Depressing. Sulky.
Those are MY adjectives.

And the guy? He was hired to provide the ‘fun’. Oh no! Definitely NOT what you are presently thinking. Hell, no! This is a no-nonsense, straight laced event.

So, it was initially awkward. Being hit on, that is. Let me explain. I am usually the flirt initiator because I want something from you. And I will convince you that it was your idea to give it to me and you would never have felt more pleased giving me whatever it is. Hence, this was different.

True to form, my brain convinced me: why not?
Flirting is after all good for wellness!

After about 7 minutes, I couldn’t help but glance the room for an exit strategy. Someone to rescue me. No, no. He wasn’t half as bad. A tat dorky with too much gums and rapidly thinning hair. I could live with that. See, the only reason I still have a svelte reflection (be mindful, I said reflection) is because I am blessed with long legs and the sensibility to buy clothes that makes my legs go on and on forever. Uh huh, age and gravity has kicked in long before I knew; so who’s judging gums and hair?

I needed to be rescued before I bolted for the door. Before I slapped this sweet, innocent being. Before I ruin his suit with the drink in my hand…

See, he was one of those. You know. Those people who always radiate cheerful optimism regardless of whatever is going on in their lives. One of those who seem to have walked out of QVC at 2am in the morning when you are sitting in a daze wondering about your sorry life in front of the tv. One of those ‘diamond-platinum’ multi-level-marketing folks who sees everyone as a prospect and whose non-sensible vocabulary consist of words like fan-ta-bu-lous. gi-ga-na-mous. Nauseating, aren’t they?

However, typical of me and my mindset, I became increasingly suspicious that he is really intensely depressed. And who wouldn’t be with such a name that is impossible to spell correctly let alone pronounce. hmmmm… could this be why he is still single? Seriously, think about it. A name with 6 consonants + 1 vowel … HUH?!?

Precisely, my point.
And did I ever tell you I am thankful that ‘Penelope’ has 4 consonants + 4 vowels?


3 thoughts on “Work Diary: on being hit-on

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