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Lesson I: Indifference
The lithe yet shapely little moon elf sits at the bar, one thin leg crossed over the other. The sultry smell of her amber perfume wafts around her like an inviting cloud. Her dark cobalt blue ringlets are pinned at the nape of her slender neck to keep them free of her bright yellow kohl-rimmed eyes.
Jack the barkeep places a tumbler of whiskey before her and she thanks him with a disarming smile. Then she turns to you and traces her finger slowly along her collarbone.
“You know what you’re doing wrong, kid?—No, listen to me—No, listen to me. I’ve got at least ninety years on you so listen to me. I know why that little blonde waif of yours is wholly uninterested in you but wait. You can turn that around by employing three simple tactics that are almost certain to win you the affections of those strange creatures called women.”
The elf reaches into a small cup on the bar, takes out a sugar cube, and drops it into her whiskey.
“Indifference, impertinence, and unabashed sexual innuendo.”
She picks up the glass in her hand and takes a small sip, sampling the sweet booze.
“Today I’ll teach you about indifference. I can’t guarantee it will work, but it will vex her. It vexes all beautiful women because beautiful women are unused to men who do not succumb to their womanly charms. Who the hells is this bloke and why isn’t he becoming putty in my hands? Your stoic indifference will pique her curiosity. She will learn to appreciate your approach long before she can wrap her head around it.”
The moon elf’s tongue flicks across her lower lip, moistening it.
“A lovely, ravishing lass is accustomed to compliments, overzealous attention, slavering enthusiasm and cringe-inducing pickup lines. Trust me, I am one. Now, it is important to note that a significant margin of error exists for the overall female response to indifference. For the reasons I mentioned, that margin becomes smaller and smaller as the test sample of women becomes lovelier and lovelier. By the time you get to the top fifth percentile of classical female beauty, that margin of error is negligible. Nearly a hundred percent experience confusion and fascination.”
The elf uncrosses and recrosses her legs. Then she tosses her head back and laughs musically, temptingly, almost innocently but not quite; she’s like a siren or a Venus fly trap or a shimmer in the mist. You honestly don’t know but you’re pretty sure this is the kind of woman your father warned you about.
“The six signs of female fascination.”
She smirks, her lips parting slightly to reveal a glimpse of her teeth.
“A furrowed brow and a bewildered expression; a lingering, curious stare; a complaint about your arrogance; an abrupt, offended exit; a slap to the face; a flushed, heaving bosom.”
She turns back to the bar and takes another sip of her horrendously sweetened whiskey.
“No, kid, you stay right here or you go somewhere you know she isn’t. She’s expecting you to crawl to her. Wait for your pretty little bird to fly to you and then act like you don’t give a damn.”
“Thanks,” you say because what the fuck else can you say?
“You betcha.”
The lithe yet shapely little moon elf sits at the bar, one thin leg crossed over the other. The sultry smell of her amber perfume wafts around her like an inviting cloud. Her dark cobalt blue ringlets are pinned at the nape of her slender neck to keep them free of her bright yellow kohl-rimmed eyes.
Jack the barkeep places a tumbler of whiskey before her and she thanks him with a disarming smile. Then she turns to you and traces her finger slowly along her collarbone.
“You know what you’re doing wrong, kid?—No, listen to me—No, listen to me. I’ve got at least ninety years on you so listen to me. I know why that little blonde waif of yours is wholly uninterested in you but wait. You can turn that around by employing three simple tactics that are almost certain to win you the affections of those strange creatures called women.”
The elf reaches into a small cup on the bar, takes out a sugar cube, and drops it into her whiskey.
“Indifference, impertinence, and unabashed sexual innuendo.”
She picks up the glass in her hand and takes a small sip, sampling the sweet booze.
“Today I’ll teach you about indifference. I can’t guarantee it will work, but it will vex her. It vexes all beautiful women because beautiful women are unused to men who do not succumb to their womanly charms. Who the hells is this bloke and why isn’t he becoming putty in my hands? Your stoic indifference will pique her curiosity. She will learn to appreciate your approach long before she can wrap her head around it.”
The moon elf’s tongue flicks across her lower lip, moistening it.
“A lovely, ravishing lass is accustomed to compliments, overzealous attention, slavering enthusiasm and cringe-inducing pickup lines. Trust me, I am one. Now, it is important to note that a significant margin of error exists for the overall female response to indifference. For the reasons I mentioned, that margin becomes smaller and smaller as the test sample of women becomes lovelier and lovelier. By the time you get to the top fifth percentile of classical female beauty, that margin of error is negligible. Nearly a hundred percent experience confusion and fascination.”
The elf uncrosses and recrosses her legs. Then she tosses her head back and laughs musically, temptingly, almost innocently but not quite; she’s like a siren or a Venus fly trap or a shimmer in the mist. You honestly don’t know but you’re pretty sure this is the kind of woman your father warned you about.
“The six signs of female fascination.”
She smirks, her lips parting slightly to reveal a glimpse of her teeth.
“A furrowed brow and a bewildered expression; a lingering, curious stare; a complaint about your arrogance; an abrupt, offended exit; a slap to the face; a flushed, heaving bosom.”
She turns back to the bar and takes another sip of her horrendously sweetened whiskey.
“No, kid, you stay right here or you go somewhere you know she isn’t. She’s expecting you to crawl to her. Wait for your pretty little bird to fly to you and then act like you don’t give a damn.”
“Thanks,” you say because what the fuck else can you say?
“You betcha.”
