Apparently I am the world’s worst flirt. In place of giving off “pick me, choose me, love me” vibes, I exemplify a “chicks before dicks” attitude. The simple explanation for this: I’m not accustomed to being around large groups of heterosexual men. My entire life has revolved around the all-female or all-gay boy environment.
But, as the Conductor alluded to this weekend, I am not incapable of overcoming 21 years of living the convent lifestyle. Under his tutelage, he argued, I could be a lean, mean 20something flirting machine.
A slightly (read: completely) cynical person by nature, I challenged him to teach me his ways in under five minutes. And being the Princetonian that he is, he attempted to impart his wisdom in one small secret: the elbow stroke.
For those as flirting-deficient as I am, let me explain. When in conversation with a potential suitor/gentlemen caller/individual with a full set of teeth, you must indicate your interest in pursuing further conversations– beyond the confines of what is likely to be a semi-public setting. To accomplish this task, you must physically acknowledge your attraction. And what better way to do that than to casually stroke said suitor’s elbows.
Elbows are the most awkward human body part. Ever. If you acknowledge this awkward body part, you are acting in metaphors. You are stating, “I can accept that you are imperfect; that you will have awkward moments; and that you will continue to look radiant in the midst of those moments.” In other words, you can accept both the physical and social abnormalities that your romantic interest will undoubtedly possess.
However, my tutor forgot to mention the potential negative consequences of engaging in elbow affection. For example, while you may think you are behaving in an admirable manner– accepting the imperfections at the onset of your burgeoning relationship– your not-yet-significant other (NYSO) may be thinking, “Who is this stranger molesting my elbows?” Not exactly love at first touch.
Of course, my new motto– “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it”– requires that I attempt this Princetonian’s experiment. If I fail, as I suspect I might, at least I can cry “District Attorney’s Office employee,” as the NYPD officer drags me to jail for sexual assault. Oh, the joys of government employment.