Flirting 101.

Obeying orders from LC—and let’s not forget that it was Objection’s birthday—I hit the town last night with Objection and our Very Good Friend (VGF). Hard. And I’m happy to say it was a very successful night.

Those of you who actually know the girl known as Reluctant Dater know that I’m not much of a flirt. Especially with strangers (Stranger! Danger!). But, based on my recent melancholy stemming from low self-esteem and insecurity (thanks a lot, RCB), and after a lunchtime joint therapy session with LC and Objection, it was ascertained (ie mandated) that I needed to boost my self confidence and get out there. I was given the task of initiating conversation with at least one “strange” man. Yikes.

No one was telling me to forge a new relationship or forget about the one I have. I was just tasked with getting out there and being the nice, fun, sassy, friendly girl that I am. So, armed with a commitment to have fun and with the fear of disobeying LC, Objection and I arrived early at our dinner venue and headed straight for the bar.

Objection asked for a wine menu, I for a drink menu. She was handed a tome detailing the restaurants vino selections. Placed in front of me was a nicely chilled martini glass and a shaker. “Try this,” the kind of cute bartender said. And so it began.

Strange man putting a drink in front of me. What’s a girl to do but drink it? Delicious. Soon, bartender Joe and I were chatting away. I told him it was Objection’s birthday and immediately pulled the “guess how old she is” question out of my bag of tricks. He guessed 24! Score for Objection!

We continued to gab and imbibe until VGF arrived. She, too, ordered a glass of wine. We soon became those girls, you know, the ones who have an 8:00 reservation but don’t sit down until quarter to nine. I decided (as I am the bossy one) that we should go to our table. I asked Joe for the tab and he said, “It’s on me, enjoy your dinner.”

Sweet.

Now, for those of you who don’t know, Objection is a master flirter. I could take some lessons. In fact, we all could. I told her that it was all her doing that we got the drinks comped—the eye batting, the birthday, the whole nine yards. I refused to believe her when she said all the attention had been on me and that she had nothing to do with it; that, in fact, she had been so not playing her A game that it wasn’t even funny. Damn. I'd hate to see that A game.

We proceeded to have a Top Five meal. After dinner we headed back to our place at the bar. Bartender Joe was happy to see us. We talked and joked and drank until last call. A good ten [top shelf] drinks later, we were the last ones to leave the restaurant. With no bar tab of which to speak.

Clearly not evidenced by my [progressive hangover affected] rambling, I learned some lessons last night. I learned that I am not as bad as flirting and talking to strangers as I thought. I learned that there are many ways to flirt; my MO is “passive aggressive flirting,” as artfully coined by Objection. I learned, too, that I can have fun wherever I am, whenever I want, if in the company of people whose attention I appreciate but do not have to covet. And that it’s okay to talk to strangers and be coy and mysterious while simultaneously being cute and sassy. Boys dig it.

But, most importantly, I learned that when you have tasteful cleavage, you need no other accessories.