I’ve always been something of a flirt, but for me, it’s often harmless. Occasionally, some guy with a girlfriend would come along and strike a friendship with me based on drinking beer, hanging out at a bar, and laughing hysterically. Some call that flirting. I call that having fun.
Even if I were flirting with someone, in no way would it have meant that I intended to sleep with that person. Or try to break their relationship up. Flirting does not equal desire. (This is not to say that I have never partaken of the Dirty Mistresses Club; it merely means that I was not looking to steal every girl’s boyfriend.)
Yes, I used to dress pretty provocatively. Yes, I wore clothing that accentuated my assets, but I never looked trashy. God provided me with an ample amount of upper body, and though it may have seemed like I was showing the world my goodies–much like an iceberg, I was mostly hidden below.
When I was 24, I spent a lot of time at Flaherty’s. We sing karaoke and had a really great time. Large groups of people would come to hang out, and I always had a blast. One particular group of people would frequent the karaoke shows. I would duet with Matt, and drink with all of his people. He was an incredibly flirtatious guy, so when we would chat, it seemed like we were interested in each other. Not. The. Case. He was a little too much like me for me to ever want to date him.
I prefer guys who bring something different to the table. I don’t want to be in constant competition to be funnier, sassier, or louder. It would be obnoxious. I think that was the case for him as well. His very sweet girlfriend was quiet and reserved. I thought she was a pretty nice girl.
Apparently, she didn’t think the same of me. I received the following MySpace message from her cousin, Anne:“Oct 27, 2007
Why are you always hitting on Matt and may I add in front of Lisa, you know, Matt’s girlfriend? I thought you liked Lisa. I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but Lisa gets a little upset when your around. Matt is a friendly guy, likes everyone, talks with everyone, and maybe (or obviously) he’s a “boob man”. But it’s getting pretty old seeing your boobs hanging out ALL the time. It’s not just me, it’s other people too. You know there are better ways of showing off your assets.
I really wish you would RESPECT Lisa and quit hitting on Matt. I’m not trying to be a bitch, I always thought you were a nice girl and just letting you know there are more appropriate blouses out there to be wearing. I’m not saying you have to be like me and cover up. I know you like to wear flirty outfits and all, I’m just saying they don’t have to come down to just above your nipples.
I really hope you do take all of this into consideration. I don’t want to put you down, I want you to be aware that you can still look classy while dressing flirty. You’re a cute girl and I’m sure you’re fun, you can get a boyfriend of your own, stop hitting on other woman’s boyfriends. Thanks for reading.”
Let’s just say I had a hard time not wanting to write back and correct her grammar. I was pissed. This message has stuck with me for almost five years. Not because I was hurt by it. Not because it was true. And definitely not because I learned something from it. But because it rang a bell that I had yet to hear. Some people just don’t get it.
Anne was a cute girl, definitely a little bit on the prude side, but like Lisa, I liked her. She exaggerated a lot to try making her point, but all I really got out of it was jealousy and stupidity. Yep, I said it:
People are stupid.