Flirtation Geru

This one's for you, Jen W. Most of you have heard how my romance-baning became instant urban legend the day a nice guy tried to offer me some yellow wildflowers and the first thing that came out of my mouth was, "Are they going to shoot poisonous barbs at me?" My feminine wiles, if I have any, manifest themselves more often by accident than by design and tend to be incredibly counter-productive for me. They have never yet produced reciprocal liking in any of the few guys I have developed a romantic interest in and they apparently work cruel wonders on some truly decent guys I am really not compatible with or interested in. Sindy once told me that this phenomenon was not actually a curse, but a protection from God so I wouldn't get entangled in a relationship prematurely. For the most part, I'm content with that. I have been blessed with many meaningful, deep friendships with my family and female friends. I can remain focused on my studies and I am free to make my own academic and career choices to a degree that my "claimed" friends cannot. It also helps that the unknowing targets of my affection typically move away or start dating someone else within weeks of my meeting them. Quite fortunately, I have maintained an awkward relational distance from pretty much everyone in the Young Adult group at my church so there's no fear of any of them reading the following. Quite unfortunately, I have maintained an awkward relational distance from pretty much everyone in the Young Adult group at church, including he who shall not be named because I actually developed a crush on him, something that happens VERY sporadically with me. Or to me, as the case may be. This un-named person first captured my notice because he tied my mom's shoe for her. I also learned that he loves to travel, works in construction, prefers organic foods, and is Nolan-like in his spontaneous enthusiasm for random opportunities like learning German from the senior's German bible study group or reorganizing the defunct church library. I'm a sucker for out-doorsy extroverted guys who are sweet to older women because they can be and love the written word. Three weeks later, he felt called by God to move back home to another province to be with his dad, who was really ill. Protection of family, spiritual maturity, and obedience to God's will are also really attractive to me. But half a year went by with no indication he would ever be back and I took it as a sign that God was telling me to get a better grip on reality: I'm not rally even an acquaintance to him, I still haven't finished my BA, and I may well be moving to another province in another year to begin work on my Master's and PhD. Then, last week at church there was this hairy, blonde, tanned, friendly guy happily mingling with the Young Adults group like a long-lost friend. He expressed stunned pleasure at the news that two of his friends had gotten married since he'd last saw them. I haven't been a part of the GIC young adults group very long and I'm certainly no consistent participant now that I have joined, so I assumed he was one of the elite who had been a part of the church forever and had moved away for college or something. Feeling characteristically awkward around the whole group and too sleep-deprived to bother pushing myself out of my introverted silence, I retreated with Sam to find mom so we could go home. Mom, however, was detained, so I told myself to suck it up and go mingle with people in the lobby. I dropped off a belated birthday present with Karla, then went to wish Rena a happy birthday with a mental note to make her a gift as well. While chatting lightly with Rena, Jen and Josh, the happy new couple, also came over to join the conversation and that is when I found out that the hairy guy was he who shall remain un-named. Darn, he looks lovely, I decided (non-verbally, don't cry) upon a brief glance where he stood talking to a group of people. But I have issues inviting myself into group conversations even when I'm good friends with those involved and that is definitely not the case with anyone at that church so I maintained my distance. When I glanced again he was gone and I felt simultaneously relieved and disappointed. Soon after, mom reappeared and we headed together for the exit. Dang nam it, he's standing on the landing in front of the door, I realized all too soon. It's ok, Faye. Just say, "Hey ____, welcome back." You can do casual and non-stalkerish. Nooooo I can't. It's partly the un-named's fault. He destroyed the rote response protocol by first turning away from his conversation with an old man to give my mom a hug and then picked up the keys she dropped on the floor with a cheerful, "Here, let me get those for you". Then he quickly turns to me, exuberantly lifts his right arm over his head for an exaggerated low-five (which I did manage to reciprocate) and beams, "Hey, Buddy!" And at that moment, my brilliant, witty mind, which is usually my secret pride and joy, vacated my body and its imbecile replacement spluttered out, "I'm a girl!" Gee thanks, Tips. Like I'm four years old again and it's really important to assert that fact of biology to others because the baby pink shirt with rhinestones and the apple-sized growths on my chest somehow might not make that point self-evident. "You don't like 'buddy'?" he asks, surprised. Now deeply empathising with River's character in the movie Serenity as she weeps, "Please God, make me a stone," my befuddled mind's replacement searches for some Clueless era attitude and responds, "Um, no-o." Unfazed and irascible, the un-named pushes, "How about 'Poncho', then?" Poncho? Poncho?! As in the name of that horrible little self-absorbed but emasculated terrier in the Pooch Cafe comic strip that I always hope will be eaten alive by angry hornets? I will beat your friendly face in with my shoe if you ever call me that! "Ok," I hear myself agreeing congenially, "I can live with Poncho." Suddenly his eye-brows knit together and the un-named is looking intently at my face: "Do you wear contacts? You have really blue eyes." Completely thrown off my casual groove now, I mumble, "No contacts," and immediately want to beat my head against a wall because I always wear contacts, they're just not coloured. "I don't remember them being blue," he frowns, then he suddenly turns and dashes up the staircase calling over his shoulder, "Sorry, I gotta go catch the Jankes before they leave!" I stand on the landing a minute more, dazed and mute before I follow my mom out the door. Outside, my mom bursts into laughter at me and Sam frowns at her, confused as to what's so funny. I sigh. Why? Why, God, why? Why must I turn into Rainman around guys I really like? Why can I not either shut up or speak intelligently? God laughed. Then he made me look up 2 Corinthians 12:1-10.