Monday, August 15, 2016

Just Call Us Oblivious

I suspect most men are born oblivious to certain things, one of them being the ability to recognize when women are interested in them (or more than just interested). The guys who get this usually have to beat off the ladies with a stick. The rest of us are simply poor shlubs.

A small group of the Oblivious becomes aware of the fact they're not tuned in, usually after the fact. They wonder what could have been, if anything was.  I spent a lot of puberty asking my best bud how do we know if they're into us. Being somewhat self-aware, we agreed that if a female presented herself nude to either of us, we'd still be wondering if she was into us. Further, we'd probably ask if she wanted help finding her clothes. Or we'd shyly inform her she was naked.

We worked diligently, through the years, figuring out some of the signs. The personal space thing. The hair-flipping. The shy smile. The sudden interest in what can only be described as fatally boring. Of course this usually comes about way too late.

I say Funny Shit. I've noticed that I can make lots of people laugh, even in odd situations. One day it hit me, as most things hit me (like a sledgehammer), that if I had only used my gift for evil instead of good, I'd have been swimming in it all of my life.  Women love a sense of humor, or at least that's what they say. If I can stand near them and give them a silly laugh, I'm most of the way there. Yay!  Again, too late.

Back in the days of musical comedy, I let the other two guys be social, dealing with the crowd and selling merchandise, while I packed up the gear. Dealing with people was not exactly paradise for an introvert (no, really).  My wife used to tell me I could get laid multiple times at any gig. After I stopped laughing, I asked where that came from.  She said they were falling over me. The laughter subsided. I said they weren't. She said, with all the love in her heart, that I was a blind idiot. My mind reeled at the possibilities. The possibilities I'd missed, as I had my girl. The possibilities of Fun Times up to meeting my girl.

Speaking of meeting my girl, I've mentioned we worked in two different offices in a medical building. Unbeknownst to us, our two offices were working diligently to get us together. I'm not so sure their planning went too far, as the day we met, it was over for both of us... we were smitten. My coworker knew it before I did (I kid you not. RIP Pat). She said I must like her, as I let her into my personal space, which normally runs about twenty feet in all directions. Dammit to hell, another woman has to tell me about this.

So we're out to eat the other night, at a place we kinda gave up on- The Olive Garden (just like real imitation Italian food!), due to their late hours.  The waitress was first class, even going so far as to recommend we come back again for something they were out of.  And she was also a treat on the eyes, as confirmed by Mrs leftystrat. She did not confirm, however, my request for the waitress to babysit me when the wife is away visiting relatives. You know, Vice Wife.

Why is it that I keep looking at women and discovering I'm about twice their age?

Two more visits with food later, the wife casually informs me the waitress likes me.
HOW DOES SHE KNOW THIS? WHAT SORT OF MAGIC COULD THIS BE? Is this some sort of radar women have that can't be installed in men?  Much as it would have caressed my old, battered ego, I had to say this was not true. The wife insisted otherwise.  Ok, consider my ego stroked, I guess.

I still didn't see it.

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