Hold me closer, Tony Danza.

 

Okay, so I've been stuck here in Yuma by myself for nearly three weeks now.  And after spending most of my time interviewing people for my investigations, typing up reports, or going out solo, I came to an unsettling discovery when I went out last night.

I'VE LOST MY FLIRT!!!

Those of you that know me know that I'm typically an equal-opportunity flirt.  I like to call it being friendly and interested in learning about someone, but everyone else calls it flirting.  Erroneous.

Anyhow, I fear I may have lost my ability to flirt after going so long without any opportunities (i.e. men) to use my mad skills.  Yes, there are men in Yuma.  Unfortunately, in this town they are either of the over-60-with-man-boobs variety or the teenage-pants-on-the-ground variety.  I've been so starved for male attention that I even giggled like a little girl when the lime green schoolbus full of immigrant workers made kissy noises in my direction at the Chevron while I pumped gas in my smart trousers and sweater vest.

Yeah, it's a pretty dismal situation.

So imagine my delight last night when I went to eat at a local bar and grill and found it contained a handful of jauntily dressed male students from the local community college.  Bonus - no Ed Hardy in sight!!!!   I make a mad dash to the ladies and slick on a little extra mascara and lipstick before strut over to my solo seat at a pub table in the middle of the room.  Thank goodness I'm wearing my Will Harcourt-approved jeans and heels (sorry, that's inside unless you know Will)!!  I order my regular Coke w/ lime and decide on the BBQ ribs.  I'm snacking on some bread when I spot a couple of particularly attractive young men at another table.  After starving here in man-boob central, I decide to go ahead and work the flirt a little with one of these little morsels of testosterone. Yeah, just little eye contact here a little coy smile there.  Textbook moves, I know, but they work.  After about five or so minutes of "I'm so lonely over here by myself.  Won't you come rescue me?" I am delighted to see one these young Yuma-n stallions climb out of his booth and start making his way to my table.  I take a sip of my Coke to reward myself for my success and angle myself toward my rescuer with a smug smile, just in time for him smile........and slide past my seat without a word.  On his way to the men's room.  I can feel the upper-case L being stamped on my forehead.

So I turn back to my rejection-laced Coke and smile thankfully at my waitress as she delivers my ribs.  I dive in, figuring if I can't have some male companionship, I can savor some barbecued carnage.  And this carnage is pretty darn delicious.  As I'm savoring a particularly drippy piece, my men's room Casanova appears at my side and says something about how much I must be enjoying my meal - I can't remember, I'm too busy desperately mopping up my face with the too-few napkins I have on my table.  Nice.

Casanova sits down at my pub table and attempts to start some conversation with me.  I'm pretty sure we talked about what I was doing in town and something about him studying engineering at some local college, but I pretty much spent the whole conversation screwing up my face while trying to dislodge a piece of rib that set up camp between a pair of my molars.  I'm sure after suffering through a few minutes of watching the tug-o-war occurring inside my mouth, Casanova quickly decided he didn't want to be anywhere near that mess and told me to keep enjoying my meal as he returned to his table. 

For those keeping score:
Casanova - 2
Ribs - 1
Me - 0

I finished my meal with my scarlet letter "L" clearly imprinted on my face.  I paid for my meal and painstakingly took my walk of shame past my would-be husband.  He gives me a cursory head nod and turns back to the two brunettes that found their way into his booth.  Awesome.  Instead of spending the rest of my evening with a tanned and gorgeous coed, I spent it with a package of Oreos, milk and HGTV.

Epic fail, Flirt.  I think you are going to stay in my pocket until I get back to Utah.  Maybe my Flirt doesn't speak Yuma-n...........