A: Thursday is Race Your Mouse Around The Icons Day. (Draws figure eights in the air with a racing finger. Fails to elicit humor. Wiggles nose as if twitching whiskers. No laugh. Squeaks. Nothing. Feigns taking a selfie and says, "Cheese!" Nada! Quits her train of actions) Oh, not talking about the mouse in the pants but the computer sort of mouse.
Z: (Glares) Speaking of which, can I have my mouse back? Last week you took it and hid it. A whole weekend without writing.
A: (Finds a week old lollipop on the desk, dips it in his coffee to clean it, and pops it into her mouth) Whaja do? Something fun I hope. You work too hard.
Z: Cussed. Your were the subject of my rage. Mouse. (He puts out his hand expectantly)
A: (She fakes confusion and hesitantly offers her pop, which he refuses) So you were thinking about me. Awwww! You know how to make a gal blush (She tilts her head and flops her eye-lashes, bobs her hips and sashays her chest [note: she looks goofy])
Z: Are you flirting?
A: Why yes Mr. Butler I am. (Grins and bats her lashes furiously for emphasis... sadly she looks like two flies trying to take flight)
Z: Stop. It creeps me out. (Thinks cartoon eyes bulging outward)
A: I was getting into the art of the flirt because it is the subject of our blog. (Twirls her pop like a temptress, tongues it though drivel rolls down onto her chin, offers it with a tease, "want a suck, big boy," then remembers he doesn't like sugar-free lollys and stops)
Z: Flirting? (Holds up the sports' time out sign)
A: A gal gotta catch'jer a man. So I contend they should stop waiting for Prince Charming. Get up and find him. The poor idiot may be stuck in a tree or something. Once you've treed him flirt him into place... hopefully your place... if you know what I mean. (Imitates a forties silver screen vixen and arches one brow) You know how to whistle, don'tja, just pucker up and blow. (Gives the Mae West husky vibe)
Z: Flirting requires a dynamic that includes eye contact and guys struggle with that.
Z: Breasts don't have eyes.
A: Sexist. (Balances the pop on the edge of the desk in a holding pattern) Oh, and ha...ha...ha... Not!
Z: That is not accurate. I respect women and I like the way they look. When a man talks dirty to a woman, it's sexual harassment. When a woman talks dirty to a man, it's $3.95 per minute. I know, an old joke, but it points out the sexism is an inexact science. (Checks out her desk drawer, then shelves, then her coat pockets, knows better than to invade her handbag... does a quick cleavage check, her favorite hiding place... Alas, no mouse in sight)
A: (Lopsided grin appears as she buttons her blouse to the very top, wags a tsk-tsk finger, giving mixed messages just to taunt) Flirting is criminal? A come-hither stalker. You gotta believe somewhere there is a councilperson writing a law. A fine of $25 can be levied for flirting. This law specifically prohibits men from turning around on any city street and looking "at a woman in that way." A second conviction for a crime of this magnitude calls for the violating male to be forced to wear a "pair of horse-blinders" wherever and whenever he goes outside for a stroll. And a third requires a T-shirt that reads, THREE TIME SEX OFFENDER. Over the top. Gals like to be flirted with. Flirt with me. Come on. Make my day.
Z: Ang you can't handle the flirt. (Jack Nichesque voice in tow)
A: Could too. (Pouts as if insulted)
Z: (Coalesces to humor her) Were you arrested earlier? It has to be illegal to look that good.
A: (Claps!) Again.
Z: Did I see you somewhere? Oh, I must've seen you in my dreams.
A: Categorically cheesy... I love it. Whoo hoo!
Z: What has 140 teeth and can stop The Incredible Hulk? My zipper.
A: (Wiggles her nose) That is not a flirt but a crude come-on... you owe the courts $25.
Z: Do you like blueberries or bananas? Why? I just need to know what kind of pancakes to make in the morning.
A: Not bad... but risque. (Holds up a paper with the number six... judging... the Russian judge gives a two)
Z: What's that on your face? Oh, that's just beauty.
A: Did you mean the famous black horse?
A: Anna Held wrote, "I think the eyes flirt most. There are so many ways to use them." Wink at me. Come on!
Z: No! (One eye twitches as if in a private battle or more possibly an age-related condition, but probably out of stress)
A: Shannen Doherty, known poker player, said, "If I kind of like a guy, then I'm a fantastic flirt. But with a guy I truly like, I get painfully shy." Make me shy big boy!
Z: That's hinky. ( He, now, buttons his shirt up to the neck)
A: Dolly Parton, and the big gals said, "I love to flirt, and I've never met a man I didn't like." If I shake my Dollys atja will you shake my tree?
Z: 'nuf... eeeeee-nuf... I want my mouse... now... and then... I want quiet! Kkkkkkkkkkkkkk!
A: Ummmmm.... forgot where I put it. (Picks up her pop and races out the door)
What he did know was that a young woman he had never met stared at him in recognition. He smiled. She returned it and then quickly shied away, a flirtatious teasing that came naturally, amazingly instinctual. She offered that lash flutter, the slow peel from the ground upward, sliding over his attractive form, and then catching his gaze, just for a timid instant, then that quick spurn. Mother had taught her that, not a nasty spurn but one that issued a challenge, her yearning to be pursued obvious. At least she had thought it was, but when she looked back, expecting to find him walking toward her, he was gone.
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Angelica Hart and Zi ~ Vixen Bright and Zachary Zane
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