clueless

She knew she was bad at flirting. However, she wasn't quite sure just how bad. The last thing she wanted to do that night was pretend to be thy royal hotness. Despite how drunk she was, she just couldn't muster the courage. She liked to believe that honesty was the best way to go. Then maybe if she falls flat on her face, it would look like a graceful quirkiness. This mindset proved to be a bad omen.

There he was looking sinfully attractive, the type who she immediately considered part of the "out of my league" category. His face was, for the lack of a better word, delicious. He looked like the younger brother of Zhang Ziyi's love interest in a movie with Asian themes and daggers. She loved the way his blue-collared shirt hung perfectly on his body, not too thin, not too buff, just the perfect balance of boyish and manly.

And there she was. Horny.

Maybe it was all the booze and the cigarettes. She did notice the small cracks on his cheeks. But those little details didn't bother her that much. It could have been tiny slivers of shit and still he'd be pretty. All she could think of was how to successfully bring him back to her place without the need to drag him, intoxicate him, or, God forbid, beg him. At the same time, she was wracking her horny-as-fuck brain to think of something clever to say. All she could come up was this:

"So where did you guys come from?"

"We were just drinking at some place in Timog."

"Oh..."

(insert awkward, defeaning silence)

"I actually noticed you before."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you were the good-looking guy I saw last December at my org's play." 

(Cool.)

And the conversation became even "more" interesting.

"So how old are you?"

"1985."

"I'm 25 years old."

(Is this really happening? Elegance was supposed to be about being coy and mysterious. Well, who said anything about elegance in the first place?)

Then the guy asks her:

"So are you single?"

"Recently. You?"

"Still single."

"Oh so you're like George Clooney."

"Huh?"

She knew deep inside her heart this moment was anything but pretty. Sadly, she always thought of herself as witty. Wit can only survive so much sexual frustration. The more she tried to take control of the situation, the more it spiraled into a furry ball of disaster.

"I really don't know how to do this. I'm sorry."

She was living her worst nightmare. For the next few minutes all she could muster was light one cigarette after another. Sometime ago, she did envision what it would be like to meet someone new. This definitely was not how she imagined it would be.

(Awkward grammar and tone aside, it's important for me to write something.)