Honing the technique

Okay, so I had my first date following the Technique. I wore a pair of silver shoes and some red lipstick to help me channel Scarlett.

Unfortunately, the date itself was a bit of a dud.

We met at the tube station and walked to a nearby pub. By the time the bartender had finished pulling my pint, I was struggling to maintain sparkling conversation. Or any conversation at all. He seemed like a perfectly genial chap but it was like getting blood from a stone.

I referred to book’s advice:

“You must always seem attentive to his conversation; conceal the signs of flagging interest at any cost, but yet don’t look too eagerly engrossed, or he will soon feel his talk is so delightful to you that he does you rather a favour by talking at all. Equally elementary, but highly effective, is the well-known policy of drawing a man out to speak about himself.”

Right. So I put on my most engaged-yet-slightly-disengaged face (remaining careful not to go cross-eyed in the process) and played a fine game of 20 questions. I nodded enthusiastically. I laughed merrily. I opened my eyes wide in fascination. To an outside observer, I’m fairly sure I looked like I had snorted speed earlier in the evening. The Photographer remained relatively stone-faced throughout the performance.

My crowning Technique moment came when he popped out to go to the bathroom. Two rather fetching gentlemen walked in and sat down at the table across from me and immediately started an entertaining discussion about the décor of the pub (which was, bizarrely, Shirlock Holmes-themed).

“Banter!” I thought. “God, how I miss you. TAKE ME WITH YOU.”

One of them looked over at me sat at a table on my own with two full drinks in front of me and two empty glasses to one side.

“Drowning your sorrows, I see? And two different types of drink as well! Must have been a tough day.”

We then engaged in what I can only describe as a flirtatious exchange.

Photographer returned to his seat (which prompted a raised eyebrow from the fellow at the next table) and we resumed our slow death march to the end of the date. At the end of our second drink, Photographer asked if I was hungry.

“No, I’m fine, thanks. Actually, I should get going. It is a Monday night!” I then looked down at my watch and realized it was only 8 o’clock. Oof.

As we walked out, we went past the other table and the fellow I’d chatted with gave me a long, brooding look. Ah, lovely frisson.

The book goes into detail about the benefit – nay, necessity! – of encouraging male competition and inciting jealousy. Morally, flirting with one man whilst on a date with another isn’t exactly a high point for me but there was something strangely thrilling about garnering male attention and (eek!) pitting the two against one another.

I doubt I’ll see Photographer again (surely no two people are that masochistic?) but he provided a fine first outing for my inner-Scarlett.

As for the Triathlete… well, I finally responded to his irritating birthday text message yesterday by saying I was excited to see what sort of surprise he was cooking up for my birthday.

“What, I have to cook? LOL. Not what I had in mind.”

The use of text abbreviations alone made me want to smash my phone into the ground. Nevertheless, I soldiered on and replied in what I hoped was a flirty, coquettish way.

“Ah, I think you’ll find the best things in life are not, in fact, free.”

His response actually made me gag a little:

“What, I have to pay? LOL.”

That’s right, in a matter of weeks the man has gone from opening doors and begging for dates to making prostitute jokes at my expense.
It is this sort of behavior that will assuage my guilt when I’m working whole swathes of men into jealous furies over the next few weeks.

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