Last Friday night, dada da da da…Ok Katy Perry, shutup it’s my turn now.
I recently finished a novel called The Witch of Portobello. The author couldn’t write for shit.
And yet, one thing stuck in my mind. The Witch summons up her powers by Doing Something Different – for instance, by NOT dancing to the rhythm of the music, or by NOT filling the gaps in a conversation. That got me to thinking about what I might get out of Doing Something Different.
Over dinner with Captain Savage, I said maybe it was impossible for anyone to change, really, because we only ever change in ways that we WANT to, and what we want, is laid down by what we are – so essentially you can never escape the box that is You. CS wanted to know if he could eat the last spring roll.
It made me wonder if maybe the only way we can induce REAL change is if we do something we DON’T want to do. Acting on this theory, me and CS got our glad rags on and sauntered into a very busy Irish pub on a Friday night.
OUR MISSION? To get out of a boring romantic rut, by inducing total strangers to tell us to fuck off. (And here’s HIS version of events.)
Now, in the safety of the restaurant, this looked like a good idea (it did?). In the pub, it looked downright scary. Contrary to what CS thinks, I’ve often got rejected, and I’ve never learned to love the R Bomb.
Anyway, if I was going to send CS to his doom, I had to do the deed myself, so I sidled up to this miserable looking old guy (low-hanging fruit!) and started to chat him up. He was polite but not encouraging (didn’t he realise he was being approached by the Sex Goddess herself?). So then I cosied up to the youngish guy next to us, also looking a bit lonely, fed him a line or two, and asked him to dance.
You want to know what my surefire chat-up strategy is? I pick something neutral but funny. Like this:
“Can I ask you something? Have you ever approached a woman and she’s told you to fuck off? Yes? Well you’re not dead, are you! No. See that guy I’m with? I’m trying to convince him HE’S not going to die either.”
This gets you a smirk and more importantly you have to nestle up close to be heard, allowing him to draw deeply of your feminine allure. Which is a very good start. If he doesn’t like your feminine allure, he’ll stare at you coldly and you can pretend you were just making an observation.
What, trying to pick YOU up? In your dreams!!!
Anyway, carried away by success, I then beamed my most sizzling smile towards a cute young foreign guy standing on the sidelines, and he beamed nervously back. 2nd rule of Picking Up in Pubs. Foreigners are easy. Where they come from, you get stoned to death for even looking.
Meanwhile CS makes periodic forays into the crowd and comes back looking sheepish. He can’t do it. He begs me to take him home. He says he’s having a horrible time. He says it’s just not him. I say we’re NOT going home until he HAS done it. Even if it’s just to say hello, or I like your dress, or Great Band isn’t it? And CS screws up his courage, and he DOES! And I’m pretty sure that there was one rather attractive woman who would have been his for the asking, if he hadn’t scuttled back to me at the end of the number.
I’m betting that the more CS does this, the easier it will get, until finally he will be collecting rejections (and underwear) like a pro. Whereas I – well I may finally learn to shoot seductive looks across a crowded room (something I’ve honestly never got the hang of)! Or fall flat on my face. I have a feeling that what begins with me sailing into the crowd confident of my universal sex appeal will end with CS striding off into the night, a horny housewife on each leather-jacketed elbow.