DISCLAIMER: Before I begin, I would have to state that I am actually relatively inexperienced in the art of hitting on a lady, so I'll have to plead with the seasoned experts to fill in the gaps and flaws in my lame attempt at simulating a wooing-in-play. Now, I begin.
Ladies-beautiful, beautiful ladies- how does it feel being hit on? I mean, I really can only imagine, being terrible at it. So help me out here. I envisage a handsome looking gentleman (like myself *wink*) walking up to you, innocently strutting down the street. He most likely would beckon on you to slow down as he rushes to catch up with you. Then in those two, three seconds, I'm sure you'd assess if the wait is worth it, because you most likely know what's coming next. He's gonna tell you how he saw you and realized you were the most beautiful thing he's ever set his eyes on. He'll then complement your skin, beautiful eyes, your figure and if he's getting you more interested, would hit the nail on the head, catching your half smile and mild blush and picking on them for some extra serenade points. Yeah, that's how I imagine it going down in my head. At least, if I were to walk up to a random pretty lady walking down the street, that's the line I'd tow. How good is it? Ladies? Guys? Anybody? Okay...fill me in when you get to the comments section. For now, I continue my scenario-painting.
So, you get flattered by his sugar-laden words and intrigued by his larger than life mysterious demeanor. He definitely would make a good catch but if you just granted him full access there and then, he may consider you loose and not worth the chase. So you tell yourself to play hard to get. Maybe he gets your number right then. Maybe you want him to work harder. Anyway, let's fast forward to the part when he calls you up late at night and leaves your mind awash with the baritone-voiced half-hunk just calling to check up on you. The random calls and broken conversations continue until you finally are left in suspense, awaiting the day he would eventually free you from this brief emotional prison, and finally...finally...ask you out on a date.
He does. You agree. He sets the venue. You concur, not wanting to seem too picky and scare him off. He'd pick you up at 5-ish. You can't wait. He's elated. You're flattered that's he's elated. He's elated that you're flattered by his elation. You're...okay, I got carried away. Back to the script.
Your date ends up being the most beautiful you've experienced, or maybe it's the first you've ever been on. Either way, it was plotted magically and you feel on cloud nine, treated as a queen should be...like royalty. Before letting you get back inside, he pops the question. He's single...alone...plus it's easier talking to you than most girls. He needs company; a friend he can confide in. Long story short: "Can you be my girlfriend?". Your heart screams yes!!! But wait...that would seem too hasty and you definitely have to be consistent with the hard-to-get act. So you say,"I'll think about it". He bids you goodnight and you have trouble falling asleep because you keep replaying the time of your life over and over again in your head. Before diving into REM, you mark out one week of begging for him. If by then, he continues his advances, you'd put him out of his misery and grant him his request. Then you'd be officially...in a relationship.
Fair enough? I think I've done a good enough job so far. But still, the screenplay rolls on.
Now you're dating, but you're insecure. He calls you fairly frequently and you go out on dates every other Saturday. Still, you're not at peace, because every where you go, other beautiful girls have their eyes on your boyfriend. You can't scare them off and you're not so good at cat fighting. So after every date, you go home and lie on your bed with your eyes aimlessly scanning the ceiling boards, asking yourself if he's gonna cheat on you or worse still-you decide which is worse- dump you. Or maybe that waiter he flashed a smile at was not him being a gentleman...maybe he collected her number when you went to powder your nose. You know men can't be trusted. Your marriage perspective painting you've designed in your mind, with the two of you wearing matching native attires and your two year old son playing on his strong left arm is cracking at the edges but you patch it up with your self reassurance. Surely he won't break your heart. Surely, he's yours forever...or is he? Is he?
Hey pretty, I got questions for you. But... this post is already way too long and the eyes of my lovely readers need a break. Our chat is gonna pause here, but I'm sure gonna continue soon. So look out for "Hey Pretty (2)". For now,I take my leave. Catchya later, pretty lady.
- 12:52:00
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