Flirts can feel themselves going into "the bit" and
can sense their friends roll their eyes at "the bit".
Whether they're the woman asking unsuspecting
bar staff what time they "get off" or the man telling
a woman that her "face looks very familiar", it will
be a tried and tested shtick.
My mum has this story she likes telling. When I was eight
years old, I noticed there were builders outside working on
our house. She heard the front door open and close and
looked outside. There I was, standing in my best dress,
chatting to them; asking about the work they were doing
and offering them snacks and drinks. I kept popping out, all
afternoon, just for a hair-twirl and a chat. From then she
knew that I was destined to be a flirt.
She was right; that is what I am. A committed one. I am a
fully-paid-up member of this club along with Geri Halliwell
and Robbie Williams and Nigella Lawson. Rod Stewart
pouring the drinks, Carey Grant on the decks. Russell
Brand passing around the nuts, Rod Hull's Emu telling
funny stories. We are all in here, having a right old laugh.
Giggling at each other's jokes and complimenting each
other's shoes and arses.
The routine is not subtle, I am no great seductress. My
brand of flirting is a bit Carry On; the friendly, chatty sort
that has secured me a life-long friend in the owner of my
corner shop and means I am more often than not
remembered by my friends dads as being "good fun". A flirt
works out their routine and will rehearse it until they see
results; making friends at every turn, shaving down prices
of bar bills and rent. Blagging fags and tickets and taxis.
Flirts can feel themselves going into "the bit" and can sense
their friends roll their eyes at "the bit". Whether they're the
woman asking unsuspecting bar staff what time they "get
off" or the man telling a woman that her "face looks very
familiar", it will be a tried and tested shtick. Sometimes
people are charmed by it and sometimes it falls flat on its
arse, but the ones who will find the performance most
exhausting and embarrassing are the ones who are closest to
the flirt.
As you grow up, things start getting in the way of all the
no-strings-attached coquetting. Firstly, you fall in love and
you realise that this is a particular hobby that isn't easy to
keep up when you're in a relationship. The closer you get to
someone, the more apparent it becomes that your idea of
harmless fun makes the person you care most about feel
insecure, jealous and more often than not, just really
embarrassed.
You also develop an annoying thing as you move into
adulthood – empathy. Bloody empathy. It's an amazing and
yet incredibly irritating realisation that you are somehow
connected to absolutely everyone, not just the people in
your life. That no one is anonymous, that you owe total
strangers nothing but respect and kindness. The moment
inevitably comes when you understand that you CAN'T
just flirt with whomever you like — they might have a
serious significant other, or they might have genuine interest
in you that is unreciprocated. Your idea of harmless fun
comes at the cost of their upset, their jealousy and more
often than not, just their serious embarrassment.
When I began to realise all the above, I felt surprised and
guilty for all the times I had got it so wrong. Because,
here's the thing; flirts — proper flirts — they very rarely do
it because they want to make a move on someone. They do
it to feel good about themselves; they do it to create an
instant rapport with someone because they want to feel
surrounded by closeness, all the time. At work or parties,
even while they're just waiting in line at the post office.
They create dialogue and ritual to give them an instant
sense of social intimacy . The irony is, when this kind of
person comes to actually fancying someone, they're usually
utterly f*cked. Like the day I got in the lift at work with the
guy I had a crush on. There I was, the woman who
considered herself such a smoothie that a seller on Ebay
once accused her of "stringing him along", in a confined
space, finally facing the man I had stared at across the
office for two years. And what was all I had to say for
myself? "These bloody lifts!" before I rolled my eyes and
bolted out at the ground floor.
Perhaps for some people, flirting really does mean nothing.
But being a grown-up and even slightly altruistic means
taking into account what your actions mean to others, not
just what they mean to you. It's not about semantics, it's not
about intention and it's certainly not about a loophole that
will get you out of trouble. If you spend the rest of your life
as a full-time, full-on flirt with people other than your
partner or with other people's partners — you are putting
your need for a bit of fun above everyone else's feelings.
So now – I flirt with caution. I flirt in moderation and I
chose who I flirt with carefully. And if I were to ever get a
boyfriend again, I'd probably give it up altogether. I read
something once about the difference between pleasure and
joy and how as we get older, we find more fulfilment in the
latter. I didn't understand it at the time; I thought they were
the same thing. Well, I get it now. Pleasure is self-
gratification. An instant hit. The cocaine-laced-sugar-laden
Cadburys cream egg of sensations that will leave you
feeling giddy and needing to top it each time. Joy is a
feeling that is sustainable. A high that doesn't need to be
trumped, but grows gradually and more often than not is
shared with another person. Flirting with someone who
doesn't know you but makes you feel a million dollars?
Sure, that is pleasure. But forming a connection with
someone, building trust, allowing them to find out every
horrible thing about you and letting them adore you
regardless? Well, hell. That's joy alright.
Culled from Askmen
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