jilty
08-24-2011, 01:30 PM
Flirting
“I got it all planned out. It’s going to be awesome.”
I looked up at Jack Robinson – my crush.
“Isn’t it the girl that’s meant to be planning the wedding from when she was a little girl?” I say, pleased with my own wit.
“Usually,” he smiles that gorgeous smile, “but I’m not usual, am I?”
I cannot say a word. I can’t even move. My mind is preoccupied with the question : Is Jack Robinson flirting with me?
“I even know what the first song will be,” he goes on, sparing no time for my subconscious questioning.
“What?” I ask dumbly.
“Mrs Robinson. Simon and Garfunkel.”
I pause before realising why this is funny and, having now overthought the joke, laugh for far far too long. My subconscious tuts me: And you were doing so well…
Flirting is like tennis, Grandmother used to say. I always left the room when she started talking about boys, but I suppose she meant: You have to return the ball in order to keep it going.
So I return the ball.
“I’ve decided on my first wedding song, too” I say, then pause as I struggle to think up song titles with Helen in the title.
Jack waits patiently for the punchline.
I give up and have to opt for gross-out humour: “Killing in the Name! Rage Against the Machine!”
He doesn’t laugh, so I laugh as manically as possible, try to laugh enough for the both of us.
“I’m sorry I don’t get it,” he says.
Do you reeeallly need to drag this out! my mind screams.
“Just because it would be inappropriate,” I explain, “for that song to be done at a wedding.”
“Oh right…”
“I’m not an emo or something!” I say.
No laughter again.
“Oh,” Jack Robinson says, his eyes glancing beyond me, and I’m sure he already knows that he’ll never talk to me again, “Mark’s just arrived…I should say hello. See you later?”
“Yeah,” I squeak but he’s already gone.
Only now can I remember what my Grandmother really used to say:
Flirting is like tennis. Because I’m sh*t at it.
“I got it all planned out. It’s going to be awesome.”
I looked up at Jack Robinson – my crush.
“Isn’t it the girl that’s meant to be planning the wedding from when she was a little girl?” I say, pleased with my own wit.
“Usually,” he smiles that gorgeous smile, “but I’m not usual, am I?”
I cannot say a word. I can’t even move. My mind is preoccupied with the question : Is Jack Robinson flirting with me?
“I even know what the first song will be,” he goes on, sparing no time for my subconscious questioning.
“What?” I ask dumbly.
“Mrs Robinson. Simon and Garfunkel.”
I pause before realising why this is funny and, having now overthought the joke, laugh for far far too long. My subconscious tuts me: And you were doing so well…
Flirting is like tennis, Grandmother used to say. I always left the room when she started talking about boys, but I suppose she meant: You have to return the ball in order to keep it going.
So I return the ball.
“I’ve decided on my first wedding song, too” I say, then pause as I struggle to think up song titles with Helen in the title.
Jack waits patiently for the punchline.
I give up and have to opt for gross-out humour: “Killing in the Name! Rage Against the Machine!”
He doesn’t laugh, so I laugh as manically as possible, try to laugh enough for the both of us.
“I’m sorry I don’t get it,” he says.
Do you reeeallly need to drag this out! my mind screams.
“Just because it would be inappropriate,” I explain, “for that song to be done at a wedding.”
“Oh right…”
“I’m not an emo or something!” I say.
No laughter again.
“Oh,” Jack Robinson says, his eyes glancing beyond me, and I’m sure he already knows that he’ll never talk to me again, “Mark’s just arrived…I should say hello. See you later?”
“Yeah,” I squeak but he’s already gone.
Only now can I remember what my Grandmother really used to say:
Flirting is like tennis. Because I’m sh*t at it.