I can flirt. I know I can. I’ve been told I can. Just this week I managed to convince the man in Marseille to elope to the south of France, have three children (Aimee, Millie and Charlie) and some chickens with me. It’s easy, bit of a girly giggle and some looking up through seriously massacred eyelashes and voila, quicker service in bars or in my case extra chips from the chippy. However there is a hitch… under no circumstance what so ever can I put on a decent performance (and it is a performance) with anyone I have any kind of genuine romantic affection for. With them I have only three options;
1. Total ignorance of any attempt they make to flirt with me. The whole mating ritual is a two way thing. You’re meant to pick up on subtle nuances of the other person’s language and behaviour and then reciprocate. Or in my case bite their head off. Cue example… inappropriate crush mentions to me that I’m sunburnt on my shoulders and would I like him to get his suncream for me. The perfect response would be a sultry hair toss and replying in a husky voice about not being able to reach my back, hint, hint. I instead chose to snap “Well it’s a bit late if I’m already burnt isn’t it?”. Brilliant.
2. The drunken lunge. This one is pretty self explanatory. And I am an expert (there is a good reason Craig chose a banner of a wine cellar for me). This has around a 30% success rate depending on the sheer volume of booze consumed and your propensity to act like a dickhead when drunk. Mine, sadly, is very high. Between the last few times I have been out with inappropriate crush I have managed to cry uncontrollably for no apparent reason, have a screaming match in the middle of the high street with him, stubbornly refuse to move from where I was until he held my hand and pretty much tried to rape him. Smooth.
3. Do my best Three Stooges impression. Every single time he has said or done something sweet for me I have managed to injure or make an arse of myself. He brought me a cup of tea while I was marking. I knocked it over. He told me I looked pretty. I promptly tripped on my own shoes. We watched Super Troopers, I went to put my pyjamas on, got my dress stuck over my head and he had to pull me out. He told me to catch a football. I decided to show off and try to kick it and kicked him in the hand with some scary looking heels. Ouch.
Oh and FYI the reason it’s an inappropriate crush is that technically I’m his boss. That and he is a total prick when it comes to the ladies and for once I am trying not to get delusions of grandeur and believe I can change him. Going well ain’t it…
WORDS BY KATIE HICKMOTT
PHOTOGRAPH BY NUNO
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