Never Try to Flirt Before You’ve Had Morning Coffee


This morning I tried to have a little spur-of-the-moment fun with the pleasant-faced dirty-blonde barista, about my age, at the drive-up fancy coffee trailer near my office. When I walk up to the window, her co-worker is already making my mocha. So she’s making small talk. We’re friendly, I’m a reliable tipper, it’s always a pleasant exchange. This morning:

Her: “You get a haircut?”
Me: “Yah, it was time.”
Her: “My man always makes me cut his hair.”

At this point the devil on my shoulder gets into the act. That’s a straight line if I ever heard one. So I give a slight leer and ask really direct and clear, as earnest as I can manage: “Oh really? And how exactly does he do that?”

And I watch real close. I’m looking for any hint of a flush, or a blush, or a change in her smile, anything at all.

Alas no. Negative response, captain. Face flat, voice still bland, eyes still sleepy, she says: “Oh, he just lets it get real messy until I can’t stand it.”

One more try. I say: “Oh, I thought maybe it was something more fun….” As my voice trails off, I’m still looking for a reaction. She gives me any encouragement at all, I’m going to finish with “…you know, riding crop, harness, something like that” and a big grin. Would love to get a blush out of this girl, but only if she’ll play. Unfortunately, she stays flat, starts to chatter about how her man always means to get to the barber, conversation wanders on from there.

Sigh. I love it when a deeply veiled innuendo strikes home, but today wasn’t a day for that.

If she reads this blog, I am sooo busted. But then again, if she reads this blog, I think I would have gotten a reaction.

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