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Finding my dream woman at Nordstrom’s (standard:romance, 530 words)
Author: CyranoAdded: Aug 19 2018Views/Reads: 275/0Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A story about love

I was looking to score! 

I expected, in order to achieve this goal, that I would have to do some
flirting. Not that this would be a hardship, I'm a natural, but 
standing in Nordstrom? There was any number of women in the store, 
mothers, teenagers, women not quite fat, and some not quite tall, and 
some with scraggly hair. I can take forever to buy a suit, but no time 
at all to decide on a target to flirt with. The trick is not to look 

There are certain things a man should know, and some he should never ask
about. One might be never to query how many pairs of shoes a woman has 
in her closet, another is to accept completely that everything a woman 
wants can be found in her hand bag. 

The trick is, for you lesser accomplished men, is to catch hold of a
glance coming your way and react to it. Don't wink. For God's sake, 
don't wink. Winking is used only as a means of attraction by men with 
no understanding of the importance of foreplay. If all a man wants to 
do is make a woman happy, then make sure she has a ton of bubble bath 
and clear out of her hair for the day. 

I'm not disappointed by the lack of possibilities. If a man wants to
find a woman on her own in a large store, head for the she section. Her 
husband will do anything but give an opinion on the tenth pair of shoes 
bought this year, and it's only August, the time when thoughts turn to 
winter footwear. There's a woman looking at me. I think she's going to 
come on to me. She's even daring to come closer. 

“Do you have a size seven in these?” 

Damn. I didn't say I always get it right. Never mind, already there's
another target for my seduction. Two women, mother and daughter clearly 
determined by their features. The mother, with long, long, straight 
black hair, thick and wild like a horse's tail. I might have offered a 
smile, something warm and inviting, but there's another target. Oh 
Christ, she's stunning. Something needs to happen. Something huge. 

But this—this is obscene. How dare such a woman be standing around, she
should be at home with the doors locked. What idiot has left her to 
saunter on her own? Serve him right if her head were turned. Poor man, 
I think, not knowing its all over for him. She's never coming home. 

That some man, different, charming, will whisk her away, walk with her
in ancient ruins, separate her from a hundred million other women, 
travel across bare and pure landscapes, and start the world again from 
scratch. Never leave her in cities or towns, with hammers and 
scaffolding and bulldozers, just bring a dream every day at three in 
the afternoon, winter and summer, and be left in the world with just 
her. She's caught me looking. She's going to speak. 

“What do you think, honey? I don't have this colour shoe.” 

I give my wife a most appreciative look. 

She's turned on. 

I think I've scored.


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