Have you seen my ass? I'm asking, because it's been M.I.A. since I flirted it off on Friday night. I'd forgotten how much fun a playfully innocent engagement with the opposite sex could be until an unexpected opportunity presented itself in the form of a (very cute) co-worker's buddy at an after-hours happy hour at my place of employment. He was attractive, only 32 and had all the tell-tale signs of a player, so it was strictly recreational flirting in nature. But a hella lot of fun, nevertheless.
After some chatting over his Tecate and my margarita-detox water, he requested a tour of the building in which I work. It had all the earmarks of a thinly veiled request for some alone time, so I wasn't surprised or alarmed when he kept favoring dark corners of the office and attempted to besame mucho. Don't worry, I was a tower of strength. I fended him off in every dimly lit cubicle corner and shadowed conference room. I was buzzed enough to find his overt advances charming instead of rude, but sober enough to keep a dismissive giggle and stiff elbow at the ready.
After a few pauses in the tour for him to inquire as to why I was rejecting his advances, he asked that we "hug it off" (evidently a Dr. Phil-esque way of dispelling any bad mojo or misunderstandings). I indulged him in a hug. Or two. Or five. But that's where I drew the line. OK. A little slow-dancing went down. But still. Since he was wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with a message in type that is the title of this post, I knew not to take his repeated "you're so adorable" pronouncements too much to heart.
Don't get me wrong. I ate it up. Just at a safe distance (emotional and physical). But I do have to say it was a nice reminder that there are few things as heady and sweet as cracking wise with an embraceably sarcastic (and very cute) bloke, although he be many years my junior. Love it, mean it.