Several of my on-line friends -- plus Andy, but I'll get back to him -- have been twitting me. It's been a long time you've been doing this and nothing. I seem to be becoming the Harold Stassen of adultery. They've been urging me, just do it. Pick a girl, get her into bed.
Now of course, there are a few missing steps, most notably: convincing the girl to go along with the plan. But I've been trying, and I've learned a few things.
First and most important is that the person who usually shoots me down is ... me. I see a woman and instantly start hunting for reasons not to talk to her. She isn't looking at me, she's busy reading her book, something. Screw that, I'm saying hi.
And that has been working. I've been saying hello to random women and they say hello back.
I told you about Sarah. That went, mmm, pretty well. I didn't chicken out, I went through with the whole thing. It didn't pay off, but it was good practice.
To a woman wheeling a roller suitcase across the street, I said, "How long are you in town?" She gave me the drop-dead look, but said, "I'm not sure." You can't let them intimidate you so I pressed on: "How long have you been in town?" She glared. "I'm not sure." I laughed lightly and told her, "Then you've come to the right place."
OK, it was a nonsensical response, but I didn't wilt and I didn't apologize. So yay me.
I was on the way to Andy's house and saw this stunningly gorgeous Asian girl, maybe -- maybe -- twenty years old. "Afternoon," I said to her. She stopped, looked at me, smiled, looked at the sky. "It finally stopped raining." "For a bit," I agreed. She nodded in a friendly fashion and skipped off.
I could have stopped her, but I thought, at the time, "Hey, I'm late for Andy's house." 30 seconds later, the obvious thought -- "uh, forget Andy, he isn't a gorgeous and friendly 20-year-old girl!" -- occurred to me and I realized I had semi-deliberately bobbled another one.
I did one more today. Retail clerk, I was buying a new light-fixture, she was ringing me up. "Pretty spiffy, don't you think?" I asked her about the fixture. "It's beautiful," she agreed quietly, in all sincerity. "You aren't so bad yourself." She looked away quickly.
I let that defeat me. Grrr. The French have an expression, "l'esprit de l'escalier" -- staircase wit, when you think of the thing you should have said as you're going down the stairs to leave. I should have said, "I didn't mean to embarrass you. I have a tendency to say what I'm thinking. Just then, I was thinking you were pretty, so I said so. Now I'm thinking how much I'd like to take you to dinner."
OK, maybe it wouldn't have worked. Maybe she was married. Or a lesbian. Or a married lesbian. Or maybe she just didn't like me. The important thing is, I need to get shot down at the next level of interaction, not this one.
Andy, by the way, thinks I'm crazy. He thinks it's absolutely impossible to pick up a stranger. The only way to meet women, according to him, is at parties. I don't think he's wrong. Women respond to confidence and what could show more confidence than my walking up to them on the street and starting a conversation?
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