Ouch. Do you pull the wings off butterflies, too?
Oh, come on now, would you really have enough guts to say that?
What is this “flirting without showing interest”? I understahd the individual words, but together they make no sense.
Flirting is how you show interest… isn’t it? If you aren’t interested, you act neutral and businesslike.
Of couse, I an the most clueless person out there about this kind of interkomunikada stuff, so I’m probably wrong about this.
She was so good that if I was having sex with someone else, I’d flirt with HER.
And her train. Or whatever.
Absolutely. I’ll say anything. Especially when encouraged with a great opening line like that.
My banter instincts are second to none!
I have to address the point about flirting vs. hitting on someone.
I am a flirt – period, end of story. My wife knows it, my friends know it…it’s just who I am. I have several female friends with whom I flirt regularly. It’s amusing to me and (usually) to them, and hopefully is somewhat complimentary to them as well. But I don’t flirt with anyone who doesn’t already know I’m happily married and clearly not in pursuit of anything more. I am, as many of my friends have described me, “harmless.”
To me, the dividing line is all about intent. I’m not looking for anything other than a laugh when I flirt with my friends. If I were, I’d consider that hitting on them.
Did any of that make any sense?
I have never been aware that any woman was hitting on me. When I was in college, my now wife heard about me and brought me soup out of the blue when I was sick. She sat there for a couple of hours and I didn’t get it. I didn’t say anything too her for a week. I didn’t think I really knew her well enough to engage in conversation. About a week later, I awoke in my dorm room bed to find her sitting right on my bed. She had been out drinking and decided to bring a friend and stop by after the night was over. She sat there for a while, then climbed into bed. We didn’t do much except kiss a little then she left as morning approached. The next day, I got the bright idea that I could ask her to go to a football game that coming weekend. I waited a whole day because I wasn’t sure if she was interested and I didn’t want to get turned down. :smack: Somehow, we got togther and are married now.
No need. I just find it somewhat amusing.
I believe that about you.
I ask again, where are you finding these women?
I think I can top that. A co-worker in another part of the country had been flirting by phone and e-mail for a few months and I then get a chance to go on a business trip to her region. I’m scheduled to get there on the Tuesday after a holiday but she invites me to come out on Saturday so we can hang out. That didn’t work out but I show up early Monday and we spend some time together. Eventually she drops me off at my hotel and comes in. We talk for hours until, at 1 in the morning, she head home.
A month later when I finally did figure out she liked me she told me that I totally could have scored that night. As she said, “girls who just want to be friends don’t hang out in a guy’s room until 1 a.m.” Sure, there was that plus the flirting plus the invitation to come out early, but guess who was too dense to pick up on any of it?
Sorry, you’re right, this wasn’t answered.
Uh…the mall? No really, every so often this kind of stupid thing happens to me, and if I manage to catch on at all, it’s too late. Which is actually probably for my own good given my tendency to act impulsively. (For example, today I wandered by the Cingular store to “look” and left with a new phone.)
Despite Annamika’s kind remarks about my not being TOO hard to look at, I don’t see me that way. I am told by some of my female friends that I can be a little flirty, but that’s usually just me playing with someone I already know. This all just happened in seconds, so that wasn’t the case here. An old girlfriend from high school that I see a lot of (socially) says that the old Bus Magic still works on her, and that all it takes is to look me in the eyes. She says I seduce with my eyes. So, I wear dark Ray-Bans a lot, in order to protect the integrity of innocent women caught in my gaze. 
At the mall, yeah, I got that part. I was looking more for which actual cities all these encounters are taking place in.
If it’s Boston, I’m going to be very depressed.
But of course that’s what you wanted. No, it’s not Boston. Upper level mall entrance between the Sears and the Carson’s, next to the tea shop. Tell her I said hi.
Although, if you are ever in the area and mostly just want to, ahem…people watch, this is the place you want to be IMHO.
I think men don’t understand that dashing good looks are not always the top thing on a female’s radar. GQ looks are great (that’s Gentleman’s Quarterly, not General Questions, fellow Dope-a-holics) but more often I look for someone who’s got a twinkle in their eye, has a confident demeanor, or looks intelligent. These things will call me even if the man isn’t conventionally good-looking.
I’m sure many, many women are extremely shallow and go for looks alone but many also look beyond.
Dockers actually, though any of the above might have made more sense. 
Arrrgggg! How in ufcks sake are we supposed to tangle that one out? (Not shouting at you in particular, darlin’; it’s just something inscrutable in the doubled x chromosomes.)
Peripheral story that has a vague semblance of relativity to the discussion at hand: I was in the Patagonia store a few weeks ago, passing their massively overpriced casual wear to look at their excellent bags when an attractive, tallish, intelligent brunette (check, check, check, check) sales associate seemed to single me out for special attention; mind you, with a 3:1 employee-to-customer ratio the store seems to employ as their incomprehensible business model it’s hard not to be the subject of constant attention, but even for that it seemed, upon later analysis, as if she was exhibiting more attentiveness than strictly commanded in the employee handbook. Anyway, I explained what I was looking for–a bag that would fit my 15" PowerBook–and although they didn’t have a dedicated computer bag that was of correct size, she suggested that it might fit in a Half Mass bag with a protective sleeve. I thanked her and ambled out, browsing as I went ($250 for a cable knit cotton sweater???) and she kind of followed me and made a parting, “Come again…sometime soon,” comment. It took me most of a walk down Green St. to realize that she maybe was flirting with me, perhaps.
So I went back the following Sunday with measurements. Again, there she was, and immediately escorted me from the front door to the bag area. Alas, the bag was too small to be of use, but under the pretense of shopping I did buy a blue insulated pullover, which I did need to replace the old blue insulated pullover which is wearing through on the elbows, although I would not have been amenable to spending Patagonia list prices ($79 on it) had it not been for the attentions of said associate and the attendant opportunity to make some basic effort at conversation and sociability. While opening up a fitting room for me–does one really need to fit a pullover?–she volunteered her name and responded to my query that she’d only been in California about a month. “Ah ha,” says the Little Man who lives, mostly passed out in a drunken stupor, in my gut, "she has offered up identification, motive, and opportunity. Grasp life by the nettle, my young lad, and step up yer wee miserable countenance to the lass and beg her indulgence for an evening of dining and wining and Irish jigs.’ (My Little Man is apparently a leprechaun, although I’ll be damned if he brings me either gold or good fortune, the miserable bastard.)
So, having made my egregious purchase I seek out the aforementioned young lady, who is currently busy assisting other patrons. So I wait…and wait…and wait…and wait. It’s like I’m in Casablanca and wondering if those letters of transit are ever going to show up when she finally frees up for a second. Leaping forward like a particularly frightening specimen of order Phasmatodea, I thank her for assisting me in the purchase of my excessively priced article and, taking brief pause to inhale a lung-full of air in hopes that I’ll won’t regret the continuance of respiration, inquire to her needs in being introduced to the area by someone slightly more knowledgeable than a desert cactus and if that might include an invitation to break bread.
I will spare you the gruesome details of the subsequent thirty seconds, which thankfully were at least not so ugly that they involved the shattering of glassware or attendance of Pasadena’s finest officers of law enforcement, but after a glacial pause it was clear to even the most thickheaded of living Neanderthals (me) by her demeanor and stumbling excuses and evasions that the invitation was unwelcome and unsolicited. Worse yet, I walked in there on one other occasion–not looking to bother said lady, but rather to see if they carried the style of paddling vest I sought to replace–and she was again on duty. Upon spying me, she disappeared into the backroom and remained unseen during the mercifully brief time it took me to ascertain that they did not, in fact, carry the model of safety device I was looking for, or indeed any paddling vests whatsoever, water gear apparently not of being of great use in the San Gabriel Valley.
So, I totally misread the signals AND I’m no longer welcome at the Old Town establishment of Patagonia gear. On the bright side, I will never again be tempted to buy an overpriced article of clothing from the Patagonia store, for which my accountant offers great thanks and his firstborn child.
Anyway, gals, next time you want to hit on a bloke, don’t tickle his ribs–aim straight for the chin. When he comes to and sees you standing over him juggling his teeth in your hand, he’ll have no question of your intentions.
Stranger
Yup, pointless flirting is merely a low signal-to-noise ratio thing, as I have long suspected.
Mika, You’re right. I should have written, “It’s even more fun to flirt with someone ELSE while you’re making out/having sex.”
Not that a gentlemen kisses and tells. Or me either.
Cranky. Running train.
Apparently, I flirt with/hit on people without realizing it. Although, my friends haven’t been able to tell me exactly what it is I’m doing that makes it flirting/hitting on.
Is it too late to flirt with anybody around here?