|Finding my dream woman at Nordstrom’s (standard:romance, 530 words)|
|Author: Cyrano||Added: Aug 19 2018||Views/Reads: 105/0||Story 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 threatening. 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. Tweet
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