Flirting With Disaster

It's no secret. I'm a flirt. You can see it in photos at the age of three, thirteen, twenty-three...the cocked head, the sparkly eyes...eagerly awaiting validation for some shallow physical trait. It's deeply embedded in who I am. Unfortunately, I didn't get an owner's manual for the effective management of this characteristic and have spent most of the last 43 years with the switch locked on, rarely easing back, even in situations where it is clearly contraindicated.

I realized while at work a few days ago that I really need to find a way to shut it off. There are octogenarians following me down the hallways and complimenting my wardrobe choices and making requests for snug sweaters on my next visit. Male nurses are begging me to become their personal trainers. And I feel giddy when the handsome cook shyly helps me find my way around the kitchen. Nothing good can come from teasing any of these fellas, yet the compliments and smiles they pay me keep my flirt in overdrive, leading them on, coercing more kind words and sly looks.

Work isn't the only place where I don't know how to shut off my misleading ways. I recently did a short stint on Match.com (two...maybe three weeks is all I can tolerate). I take a decent photo and I write a pretty good profile, so I caught the eye of a few gents. I only accepted a few dates, and knew within minutes of meeting these men that I had no interest in pursuing something deeper. Yet I chatted, I flipped my hair, I told my story, and I hugged them goodbye, with a promise of, "yes, I'd like to see you again."

The current quiet in my life (that is so rudely interrupted with work and workouts and children and dinner and insomnia) should be a great time to explore why I am who I am. I'm sure I'll find a thousand things to do and think about so I don't have to tackle such a sticky subject. And even if I figure out the why of who I am (I've been blaming it on middle child syndrome for most of this lifetime), I then need to decide if that's such a bad thing. And if it isn't such a bad thing, how do I merely temper the tease?

Most importantly, even if I don't do any soul searching, I must learn to tell an unwanted suitor "No." One syllable. Two letters. Should be easy, right? Ye....ahhh...ummmm.....well....actually...

No.