flirting?

"Flirting can be labeled as an art communicating those untold words through gestures. The wink of the eye, the tossing of the hair, the movement of the finger, the trembling of the lips are some of the signs of flirting which can express those unspoken emotion in the most dignified way. Quite ideally therefore flirting is considered to be the very first step of nurturing a matured relationship..."

...it is no wonder why I am not in a nurturing, mature relationship. I don't know how to flirt. That and the fact that no guy is going to "flirt" with a girl who wears this t-shirt. (let me make this clear before you miss my profound point: the shirt was a gift from a friend who visited Intercourse, PA-no lie.)

Flirting freaks me out. It really does. To the point that there is sweat dripping from my arm pits and my face turns a shade of red and my voice gets shaky because I want to cry and the sweat cascades down my arms to my palms. Flirting is not in my nature- the main problem is that I am not aware that I may be engaging in the act of flirting and I am innocently trying to respond in a conversation with someone who is the opposite sex.

This subject matter presented itself yesterday when I was in Walgreens. Yes, Walgreens of all places. Having Delsie in my life has forced me to be quite noticeable - or could it be the thousand pound power wheelchair I am in? That being said, Delsie tends to be a frequent topic of conversation with complete strangers. Common questions I answer: what's her name? how old is she? how long have you had her? is she a black lab? (duh!) what's in the bags? and the list goes on...

I need to remind you that the questions are always asked of her- not me. and typically, I am so thankful for that- she is a great diversion or defense mechanism.

I am shopping for a quick list of things I need at Walgreens. Along comes a stranger of the opposite sex behind me. I prepare myself to answer the above questions as I am not really in the mood to talk. However, as he started out asking what her name was and I started to reply "dels-", without even looking at him, I realized he asked me what MY name was. By the time I realized this, he had positioned himself on the other side of my wheelchair, away from Delsie. "I'm sorry, what is her name or MY name?" "YOUR name." The sweat is seeping out of my pours- no one wants to know my name. I reply with a smile and shaky voice, "My name is Holly." Now go away before I start to cry, I don't know how to answer questions about me.

"It's nice to meet you, Holly. How long have you been in the chair?" Now my palms are sweating, doesn't he want to know how old Delsie is or what is in her bags??! "What was your life like before you were in the chair?" I am now the shade of red like the bag of strawberry candies next to me. I want to reply in one breath with my eyes closed, her name is Delsie, she is eight years old, I have had her for six years, she is a black lab mix, her bags are like my purse and I can't imagine my life without her! But as I exhale and open my eyes, he is still there, right in front of me, staring at me for some sort of reply.

It's at this point, I am so aware that I have been alone WAY too long. I honestly can't remember how I replied. I am not even sure he was flirting. He could have been a person from the opposite sex just trying to engage in a conversation with a girl in a wheelchair with a cool dog. I scooted away in fourth gear, knowing I had to ring out my shirt. No, it wasn't this t-shirt, I don't wear it out in public.