Mind you, I do not claim to be an expert on flirting , but here´s my 2 cents on the subject. Never mind the articles about the art of flirt that tell you that the most important thing is poise, self-assurance and a bright smile. I beg to differ, the most important thing when engaging in a little harmless flirtation is a mirror and the fact that you actually take a look at yourself.
I took a dose of crazy (again) and traveled to Colombia in a company of 3 young men (of whom 2 were considerably younger).
Needless to say that the topics of conversation were somewhat scarce whereas the conversation itself was lively (or rather expressive) when encountering fine specimens of Colombian sights. Then of course our idea of sightseeing differed considerably, I was more architecture and landscapes, they were more big boobs and tight bottoms. Anyway, good times were had and they proved to be a delightful company to travel with indeed.
On my way home I had scheduled a quick visit to Miami. As I had already flown to Bogota via U.S. I was prepared for the strange questions I was most likely going to be asked at the immigration. What I had not anticipated that this time the person asking the questions was undoubtedly the most gorgeous immigration officer (or whatever they are called) that has ever walked the earth (or at least Miami International Airport at that given moment).
Even his uniform was steaming handsomeness: his shirt was without a wrinkle, the very buttons seemed to sparkle, and his shoes had a bright shine. (Actually when questioned about this last bit by my friend, I had to confess that I actually did not see his shoes, but am sure they were immaculate as well.)
Maybe it was the testosterone overdose that I had been exposed to for the last 3 weeks or the glass of white I had with my lunch on the plane or the sleep deprivation but suddenly I was feeling very, very, very flirtatious indeed (uncharacteristically so).
So when Officer Hots´ questions went (in my mind at least) from borderline flirtatious to almost intimate I took an unscheduled leave of my senses and engaged in a conversation that went something like this:
Officer Hot (With keen gaze. Officer Hots´gaze was positively smouldering, the whole time.): Are you travelling alone?
Me: Sir, indeed I am. (Deer in the headlights.)
(In order to save some time when we were past the questions of my chosen itinerary Helsinki-Amsterdam-Miami-Bogota & vv, and we had established that no there are no direct flights from Helsinki to Bogota the conversation continued followingly.)
Officer Hot: What were you doing in Colombia?
Me: Erm..visiting friends. Seeing the country. Rumba and all that. (Shy smile, a little wink.)
Officer Hot: So you were travelling alone in Colombia as well?
Me: No, I was travelling with 3 young men, friends. (Play with hair.)
Officer Hot: Why are they not travelling with you now then?
Me: mmm…different timetables, different interests. (Airily.)
Officer Hot: I see. You´re staying at Winterhaven on South Beach?
Me: Indeed I am, sir. (With conviction.)
Officer Hot: And you´re staying in South Beach for 2 days, alone?
Me: Yes…but hopefully not for long. (Playful smile, batting of the eyelashes, thinking of saying “why, are you coming to pick me up later?”)
Officer Hot (keen, perplexed, a little smile): I am sure that you will enjoy your time in South Beach. Welcome to Miami, mam.
Me: Well thank you. (That was probably the most seductive thank you ever uttered at the airport, at least that day.)
When I left the airport there was a swing in my gait and a smile in my eyes and corner of the mouth. I was happy, I was confident, I felt good with a capitol G. There is nothing like a little flirty exchange of words with a gorgeous man – in an uniform – to send one soaring.
Unfortunately that high only lasted until I got to my hotel and saw my reflection in the mirror. My hair was tousled lopsidedly, I had smudged mascara around one eye, pasta sauce on my t-shirt, and a krakatau of a zit just waiting to burst under my left nostril. All that was missing was a piece of parsley between my teeth and a pink eye and I would have been set for the crazy lady award.
Luckily with a help of cosmetics, some powerful voodoo and a big mojito I was able to get pass the humiliating memories of my flirt exercise, which by then did not seem to be smooth at all, but rather “not quite in touch with reality” type of behaviour.
Enough said. When flirting, always, always play a little peekaboo with a mirror first.