There's been a re-think on the flirting policy. I've decided that outrageous flirting is okay, on account of its enormousness of gesture which is akin to panto and clearly disingenuous. Flirting which is thigh-slapping and 'what do you think of that now boys and girls?' in intensity is okay, and makes the day a bit less boring. Winking is okay. The Joan walk is okay.
However, I still hold dear the idea that in everyday life strangers ought not to assume they are entitled to touch you. Recently at a dinner with a family my father very slightly knows, the patriarch of the other family poked me in the navel as he was emphasising a point about the depth to which one might feel something. Just no. No. Pat me on the arm, hug me, or bisous bisous, but navel poking is not a normal form of non-intimate interaction in any culture that I've heard of.
But when I think of the times I've been scunnered by flirts and have gone away feeling aggrieved that they gave such a confusing message about whether they liked me, it's always been the more subtle ones. The more ambiguous ones. The guy whom I would drive home and just before he would drunkenly clamber out of the car, would stare at me for a full ten seconds whilst exhaling mournfully before sadly saying 'goodnight'? Turned out didn't give a shit. Probably deciding which of my three heads to address and trying not puke. The guy who wiped a rainy chair for me with his suede coat so that I might sit next to him and who spent all night telling me how crucial it was for humans to connect? Later described the girls whom he never fancies in great detail, and basically described me. Turns out he just talks his deepest most innermost thoughts to anyone who will listen. I call this kind of talk deep and meaningless. You look like a confidant, but you're just an audience.
I continue to believe that flirting is at its core a narcissistic form of interaction that pretends to be about the other person and making them feel good, but it really about you wanting to be admired and adored. But this year I'm sticking humility out the window and embracing narcissism as my new years resolution. I might be ready to admit that I want to be admired and adored.
But no navel poking.
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4 comments:
Go on with the flirting. It's how I met my husband. Before that I had spent years slowly falling for men who had no interest in me whatsoever. It seems like the stars align when you decide that you no longer care.
I have a panic inducing phobia of anything near my navel.
Talking to someone all night about your deepest feelings is not what I would call, "flirting". It's what I would call, "leading you on". Flirting is either harmlessly fun banter or something that leads to fun nudity. All that other stuff, that serious stuff you speak of- that's just being a dick.
Major posting delay - my sincere apologies.
Gina - I've moved in and out of caring more times than Pavarotti ate pasta. I think there must be more to it.
Christina - Me too! Where do people get off thinking they can poke navels? It's madness!
CD - Some people have so many thoughts and feelings that they can't keep them in. They overspill volcanically. They should make a sign to warn the bystanders, but perhaps it's just their nature.
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