Tag: flirting

Guns n’ cupcakes

So there I was all cosy in my coffee shop writing about sex, dipping in and out of facebook, flirting a little with the guy sitting opposite me when suddenly – a bit of a commotion.

I was distracted.  What kind of idiots make a noise in a coffee shop?

Armed ones, apparently.

Two men, caps pulled low, dark glasses, and guns in their hands. Smoothly, seamlessly, holding up the patrons and helping themselves to their laptops and cellphones.

What do you do when you’re in the middle of an armed robbery? Yell? Scream? Risk being shot?

Take another sip of coffee in case it’s your last?

It was so quick. They were gone within seconds, cool as cucumbers, leaving in the escape car that was outside waiting for them.

Only afterwards did panic break out. We were tearful and shaky, everyone was in shock.

I just sat there, clutching my laptop to my chest. How lucky I had been that they never made it to my table.

But what does lucky mean? In South Africa, we have this really weird thing of saying ‘ 0h my god I was robbed, thank goodness no-one was hurt.’

And then we just carry on.

But it’s crazy. It’s insane. It’s a mad way to live.

And it happens all too often.

We gulped down our cold coffees but left our eggs, sad and rubbery, lying on the tables. Slowly, we scattered, unsure how to feel and what to do.

I got home. I finished writing my story. I called a friend to tell him what had happened.

He recommended a scotch or six, a red velvet cupcake and a pedicure. Plus a blog piece about the incident.

So that is what I did. I ate two cupcakes, had a manicure as well as a pedicure and now I am writing.

Also wondering what happened to the guy I was flirting with.  And feeling better already.

I shall have to go back to the coffee shop to find out.

Guide to flirting

I wrote this to help my girlfriend. The one that was such a bad flirt:-

  • Be friendly for fucks sake.
  • Bare your teeth.
  • Do not leave men bleeding to death on sidewalks.
  • Use those big blue eyes to your advantage.
  • Try hard not to roll them.
  • Wiggling your nose is cute.
  • But snorting and sneering are not.
  • A bit of lipstick and a splash of perfume are both useful.
  • So is a wonderbra.
  • Try a nurse’s uniform.
  • Whisper, don’t yell.
  • Do not punch men, even when they catcall.
  • Smile coquettishly when they do catcall.
  • Count yourself lucky that they still catcall.
  • Accept gifts if they are being offered.
  • And do not yawn, even when the gift is on bloodstained paper.

I thought I should ask her what she figured was the best way to flirt. Her answer:-

  • Get drunk, it’s the only way.

And maybe she’s right.  The pathetic loser in the yellow t-shirt has been trying to call her.

Not me!

  winking

You’re such a flirt.

I spent my teens flirting. I’d flutter my eyelashes, play with my hair, wink and smile coquettishly at boys.

It was natural and innocent. It was also huge fun; it’s just what we girls did.

This morning I was out for a walk. On the way I stopped to pick up a coffee and chatted to the guy waiting in the line next to me.

‘Long line hey, worth the wait?’

‘You’re such a flirt,’ said my girlfriend. ‘Stop it.’

Really? I was seriously just asking about the queue.

Midway through our walk we drank from the water fountain then struggled to switch the tap off.

A man happened to wander by.

‘Oh won’t you help us,’ I said. ‘This damn thing…’

‘We can figure it out, don’t worry,’ said the same girlfriend, giving me the evil eye.

I shrugged helplessly and he continued on his way. So did we, leaving a dripping tap behind us.

And five minutes later we were walking through the suburbs and there was a man on a wall, pretty high up, doing maintenance.

‘We’ve got your back if you fall,’ I shouted.

‘Oh for fucks sake,’ yelled my girlfriend. ‘Stop flirting, it’s driving me mad.’

He looked down at us, smiled, lost his balance and fell.

I tended to his injuries. I put my hand on his thigh while cleaning the blood off his knee and put my fingers on his lips, whispering that everything would be okay.

The only thing missing was a nurse’s uniform. A tight one.

My girlfriend watched me, shaking her head.

‘You may wanna help me with the dying,’ I suggested.

She insisted we carry on with our walk.

‘He’s fine, a few scrapes, come on.’

We walked away, leaving him bleeding on the sidewalk. But not before he handed me his number, crumpled, on a blood-stained piece of paper.

Call me, it said.

What a flirt.

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