How To Fail at Flirting

by Denise Williams

It was the kind of romantic gesture I’d convinced myself I didn’t want, three years ago when I’d decided that men weren’t worth the risk.

Open mouth. Insert entire leg.

I wanted to be kissed like that again, like I was something special, something wanted, like I was . . . someone.

“I’m scared of butterflies.” I shuddered at the thought. He chuckled. “Butterflies?” His breath caressed my ear. “All bugs, but butterflies are the worst.”

A chord of realization thrummed somewhere in my body. It had taken him three days to ask about my ethnicity. Three days! “What are you?” was almost a standard greeting after “nice to meet you.” I hated that before people knew anything about me, they needed to know how to classify my ethnicity.

Every time I woke up with him, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was waking up to myself a little more.

Maybe my next career move will be writing a book titled How to Fail at Flirting and Still Get Laid.

“I’m just saying, we don’t need to insert men into every aspect of our language.” “Okay, ovary up. Fallopian forward. Vulva with a vengeance.”

Add some eighties pop song and I was in the last scene of my very own romantic movie.

That his racist and sexist comments were inappropriate seemed to be lost on him. Lord, give me the confidence of an old, rich white man.

You won’t know until you get out of your own way, give up on this idea of perfect, and give him a chance to love you, flaws and all.”