the power of like

And lo, the uncharacteristic glut of back-to-back weekend social activity continued..

The late time, the dark bar / club setting, the rough degree of intoxication: all were similar to previous weeks. The key difference this time was that I rationally figured out that I liked her. It wasn’t even entirely driven by phwoar lust, though naturally there was an element of that in the first instance: she was attractive, I was attracted.

More notable than this was her manner and confidence, an openness and mischievous humour – not unlike my own. There was a flirtatious crackle and pace to the conversation of the kind which had been sorely wanting a week before. And this time there were no immediately obvious barriers of distance or age.

Again I had consumed more than enough alcohol to drink, but I was functioning reasonably well. However, when I rationally deduced the extent of my like, I stalled. It congealed as we spoke into a drippy cooing Fuckinell clot in my brain, impeding the flow of other thought. This led to a pause in which I hoped I didn’t appear to be leering, and Nice To Meet Yous, and an end to our first chat.

We went back to our groups and came together a couple of times, I actively sought her out. Forgetting her name the second time didn’t help to smooth my progress.

My group of football team-mates splintered further, people headed away, it was late, folk were drunk. I’d had enough as well.

Why do I find those horribly forward words so impossible to expel. “Could I get your number?” Doesn’t feel like it should be so hard. – Not that I even knew she was single, and could hardly have been surprised if it turned out that she wasn’t. (Ok, this one would have provided an irritating barrier). But the truth was that asking that question never really occurred to me. It’s just not in my repertoire. The potential for awkward snubbing is far too great. I’m a coward who shirks risk on many levels.

So although I know females usually want males to initially assume control, they want you to drive, I’m rarely able to do that. It’s much easier to place a business card into her palm when you kiss her goodbye (I don’t actually use them for much else) then run away and hope that maybe – you know the chance is slim, but maybe..? – and pathetically pine, and be ultimately disappointed again. Because of course she has a boyfriend and you barely registered in her evening at all.

I love all this shit. It never ever gets tedious in the slightest.