Today I admitted to the princess that I was confused about a woman who recently broke up with her boyfriend. She is very beautiful and she has been very kind to me. I have been unable to tell if these are innocent, meaningless flirtations, or if I should read something more into her behavior such as maybe she’d like to be in a relationship with me.
So I asked the princess: “This girl talks a lot about her ex-boyfriend and about how they’re broken up. She is also very flirty and touches my shoulder and laughs at my jokes. What should I do?”
The princess said, “I would not interpret any of that as meaning she wants you.”
“But how can I know for sure?” I said. “I’m terrible at judging these kinds of things.”
“Invite her to watch a movie,” the princess explained confidently, “sit next to her on the couch, observe how much cuddling goes on, and feed her wine, lots of wine.”
I took the princess’s advice and approached the woman. “Hey, you want to come over and watch a movie? We’ll sit next to each other on the couch and observe how much cuddling goes on, and I’ll feed you wine, lots of wine.”
The woman’s enthusiasm and kindness recoiled into a noticeable aversion. The transformation was so stunning I thought maybe something hideously grotesque resided on my person. Maybe a pimple was at that very moment erupting on my forehead or maybe there was a repugnant stain from lunch that I missed. Maybe something in my teeth. I frantically inspected myself. She mumbled something along the lines of “you’ve got the wrong idea” before she scurried quickly away from me.
This was when Rosencrantz appeared and insulted me, stating that I was “forged in the fires of Hillbilly Mountain.”
So I asked the princess: “This girl talks a lot about her ex-boyfriend and about how they’re broken up. She is also very flirty and touches my shoulder and laughs at my jokes. What should I do?”
The princess said, “I would not interpret any of that as meaning she wants you.”
“But how can I know for sure?” I said. “I’m terrible at judging these kinds of things.”
“Invite her to watch a movie,” the princess explained confidently, “sit next to her on the couch, observe how much cuddling goes on, and feed her wine, lots of wine.”
I took the princess’s advice and approached the woman. “Hey, you want to come over and watch a movie? We’ll sit next to each other on the couch and observe how much cuddling goes on, and I’ll feed you wine, lots of wine.”
The woman’s enthusiasm and kindness recoiled into a noticeable aversion. The transformation was so stunning I thought maybe something hideously grotesque resided on my person. Maybe a pimple was at that very moment erupting on my forehead or maybe there was a repugnant stain from lunch that I missed. Maybe something in my teeth. I frantically inspected myself. She mumbled something along the lines of “you’ve got the wrong idea” before she scurried quickly away from me.
This was when Rosencrantz appeared and insulted me, stating that I was “forged in the fires of Hillbilly Mountain.”
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