I have mentioned before (here and here, for example) of my fondness for flirting with women, so Longtime Readers will be familiar with my attitude thereto.
Most younger women — younger than, say, fifty — are a total dead loss because they’ve been brainwashed by Teh Feministicals into believing that flirting = rape, that all men are sex maniacs/deviants, that there’s no such thing as “innocent flirting”, that a compliment about a woman’s clothing is the same thing as grabbing her boobs, and so on ad nauseam.
I have to say that in my experience, the same is not always true when it comes to Southern women, i.e. those raised in the conservative South, who seem not only to appreciate the subtle art of flirting, but who are themselves skilled practitioners of the art, bless them.
Two anecdotes should suffice.
As y’all may remember, I did the Uber-driver thing for about a year or so some time back, and because I worked the 3am-9am shift, so to speak, a large proportion of my business involved ferrying people to the Dallas-area airports.
On one such occasion, I was called to a hotel situated near Southern Methodist University (SMU), and when I got there my customer proved to be a very attractive Southern lady of about 50 with a velvety-soft Alabama accent.
“Ah need to get to th’ ayr-pawt,” she breathed softly, the sentence taking no longer than ten seconds to complete.
Because Dallas has two airports — Love Field and DFW — but SMU is just down the road from the former, I asked: “Love?”
Without a second’s hesitation came the drawled response, “Why shuah… are yew offerin’?”
I blushed like a schoolboy, and said, “Oh man… Southern women. Nobody can flirt like you,” and the response was a soft, delighted chuckle.
The second story happened a long time ago.
When I first arrived here, I’d got my work permit, but it turned out that the job with The Great Big Research Company could only begin about six months or so later, because Budget. Well, one can easily starve to death in that time period, and so I took a part-time job with another research company in Las Colinas (in the Dallas area).
Among my workmates were two young women of about my age. One was named Susan, who came from Ohio, and the other was Sherri, from East Texas. I got on famously with both of them, but let me hasten to add that my intercourse with them was strictly social. Then I lost touch with both when I moved up to Chicago for the GBRC job.
Several years later, I was at a conference in, I think Houston, when I bumped into both women again. (The research world is a fairly small one.) Unfortunately, I was preoccupied with something when I heard “Kim?” from behind me, and when I turned around I saw them standing there.
Because of the passage of the years, I couldn’t remember either of them at all, so I must have had a quizzical look on my face. “Susan and Sherri? From Las Colinas?” one prompted.
“Oh of course, I stuttered. Then Evil Kim came out to play. “Forgive me, but I didn’t recognize you ladies with your clothes on.” (When I’m embarrassed, I often do that kind of thing.)
Susan From Ohio looked shocked, even angry. Sherri From East Texas just looked amused.
“Has it been that long?”
Southern women. How I love them.
