This one I thought was a slam dunk, a sure thing, a dead cert.
I mean, she stayed for the whole evening. She smiled at my conversation, she laughed at my jokes, she played with her hair for Chrissakes.
This one didn't yawn.
We talked about literature and ideas and life. She was smart, had a great smile, looked a little bookish but in a sexy way.
She played with her hair. It was a sign, wasn't it? I've read those articles on body language, it was a sign of interest. She twirled a mesh in her hand, twirled and twirled. Christ, she was practically pregnant with my child.
But turns out that she didn't want to see me again.
I get that a lot. There is a growing number of women out there who don't want to see me again.
If it becomes a majority then I'll be nervous. If it becomes a unanimity then I'll be somewhat miffed.
Some days, you walk down the street and you'd swear that woman was fiddling with her hair just as you passed by...
ReplyDeleteOther days, there's no wind at all.
And some days, when they cross the street, I toy with the idea it's just because they are going that way...
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