Flirtros-Flirtros Jolly

Friday, September 28


It begins quite unexpectedly, innocently enough, when a strange dog jumps into my booth. Without hesitation she curls into a ball nuzzled against my leg, rests her head on my thigh, then closes her eyes for sleep. This dog, Gigi, is perceptive. An excellent judge of character. Smart dog. Smart, smart dog. (Then again, maybe there is some small connection to the piece of sesame beef I spilled in my lap a few hours earlier.)

Cliche but true: there is NO bigger magnet than a cute dog. And this one happens to be adorable. Great disposition, short, soft hair. Athena agrees. Although she has remained standing nearby, from time to time she has been leaning in to give the dog a couple pats before returning to her drink. It was fairly clear she was eyeing the seat on the other side of Gigi, but rather than jump right to inviting her in, I was content for the moment to continue the conversation I was having with an old friend who was in town for the day. Sip of Guinness . . . rub behind the ear . . . size up the situation . . . casual exchange of words . . .

After ten minutes Athena finally drops the pretense and joins us. Within seconds of that, her two friends, Kim and Rahel, who had been looking for a way to escape two drunk guys at the bar, sit down on the other side of the table next to my friend. The dynamics of the night have altered in a single moment. My friend, who had been placidly glancing at baseball on the television in the corner of the room, instantaneously shifts into high gear, transforming into The International Ambassador of Love.

Three-on-three. A fair fight.

Throughout the summer, I've been troubled at times by how bland most of my dates have been - once I dig beneath the veneer of absurdity I tend to paint over them. When I'm feeling good about myself I bemoan how the process is flawed, how the selection of women isn't prime, how I have other priorities . . . when I'm being more honest, once I'm able to stop vomiting from the pain, I acknowledge that I cannot overlook my role in things. Except for very rare instances, interrupted by epoch-length gaps, I don't seem to leave a lasting impression on the fair sex. I can make a girl laugh. At times I can be fairly presentable. But as a rule, I don't typically inspire - well, let's just say it: I don't usually inspire unknown women to jump up and nuzzle me. (Learn from the dog, my friends! Learn from the dog!!)

Athena and Kim and I have lived in many of the same places, and find any number of things to talk about. It's all very pleasant. This is PRECISELY how almost all my encounters play out. Help! Flashback! PTSD! (Pleasant Time, Second Doubtful.)

Meanwhile, I'm overhearing snippets of Flirtros' "conversation" with Rahel.



She's leaning closer to Flirtros. Her fingers keep finding places to touch him. He is, without question, someone to keep a notebook handy for. In what might be described as a scattershot approach - call it "kitchen sink" if you prefer - sandwiched between a story about a nude beach, and a rather enlightening analysis of the chaffing properties of leather versus rubber, the singing of various patriotic verses is employed in an effort to seal the deal - with the added brilliance of using a low volume so as to draw the girl's face to within inches of his. (Sure, she's Canadian -



- and he claims it was instructional. Judge for yourself.) I think this beats my own use of The Bible towards questionable ends, hands down. (Just where are those hands now, by the way?) Flirtros is a machine. There is MUCH to learn from him. Randomly select any week in his romantic life, and it will, without exaggeration, surpass anything in mine for the entire span of the past decade.



Call me a masochist, but he's got really good stories.

Sometime later, a second dog struts into the bar. Gigi is up like a shot. Our hothouse is thrown into chaos. Athena is adamant about getting back our pet. (On the plus side, this finally gives me a moment to sneak away and relieve myself of the numerous pints of slightly-watery Guinness that have continued appearing on the table.) As I return, I see Gigi at rest atop my jacket. It must be love. (Okay, so maybe Athena lured her back with a candy bar.)

We negotiate into our former positions. Gigi again finds my lap. (Have I mentioned this dog's intelligence?) Athena begins petting the dog with reckless abandon. I'm happy to consider the ambiguous possibilities on the occasions when her aim misses the mark. Small talk resumes. At some point, one of these mid-twenty-year-olds has begun adding up the number of years I've said I've spent in various places; I become evasive when the question about how long ago it was that I moved from Boston resurfaces. Similarly, Flirtros keeps his thumb over his birthday when showing off his license to the crowd.

Eventually, that other dog draws Gigi away from our happy family once more. When we watch her suddenly jump up into the neighboring booth and settle onto someone else's lap, I quip: "Bitch." (Flirtros later comments that if I ever find the woman who laughs at that I should propose to her on the spot.) Without the draw of the dog, and with Flirtros notably entangled, Athena, revealing her true colors, goes outside for a smoke. (I will not see her again until she comes back to gather up her friends to leave.) I move on to a one-on-one conversation with Kim. Traveling, blah, blah, training for a marathon, blah, blah . . . We have a nice talk. Of course. She has, however, remained across the table. My side of the booth is conspicuously spacious.


* * * * *
The bar is about to close. The girls, like the dog, leave without a word of goodbye before I'm back from one final trip to the men's room. Final outcome: Flirtros has slipped his business card to Rahel. I sit up writing this. The big winner? Gigi. She went home with some attractive woman wearing cowboy boots.

So all I'm saying is that if you try phoning me later today and get my machine, it's because I'm not yet back from the animal shelter.

-- Saint X