Sunday, August 07, 2005

Tough Operator

Current mood: Apologetic

“Say, can I have your number, maybe?” Her eyes close slightly as her cheeks inflate with a smile, just hints of green sparkly through her straight lashes.
“Well, I don’t really know you.” I reply with honesty, but include the friendly gesture of a shrug and a smirk, as if to say “Just the way it is.”
But she seems to see it as a joke and laughs, looking around dramatically to emphasis the effect, to magnify the flirt.
“No, sorry. Jeez. You don’t understand.”
She stops her drink at her lips, deciding against the sip she was about to take, but considering holding the glass close to her face just in case her mind changes.
“I don’t hand my phone number out to strangers. It’s a personal problem. Really.”
I can tell she doesn’t believe me.
“I just don’t like the idea of my phone number out there, available to people I don’t know.”
I ended the sentence almost in a whisper, my confidence shot as I realise that I don’t even believe me, even though it’s the truth.
“It’s alright. If you don’t like me, you could just say so.”
And before she huffs away, she throws her drink in my face, on my clothes.

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