Call me shallow and/or faithless, but I was genuinely pleased the clerk at the dairy beside my work flirted with me as I purchased breath mints, chocolate and a diet coke the other day.
I crowed about it to my husband. He laughed and asked what made me believe it was flirtation. 'Oh, I know when I'm being flirted with', I bantered from below lowered eyelashes. 'He asked me if I was purchasing a healthy, wholesome lunch and told me to take care as I left! Raging flirtation, right there!'
I can't believe I made such a big deal out of it - clearly, I don't see enough stranger flirtation these days which is no doubt emblematic of my age, relationship status as declared on the fourth finger of my left hand and the fact I'm not often sending out the flirty signals. I'm out of practice.
(Also, on reading this back I promise it was actually flirtation, it doesn't sound like much hey?! oh yes, I luuuuuuuuuurve being judged for purchasing the workplace staples...it was all in the delivery, I promise).
A spot of flirting makes you feel good about yourself, you know? As opposed to, say, being touched without consent in a public place. I think I need to get my wanton hussy groove back. Watch out P, you're going to be the practice ground for my delightful banter, you poor wee thing!