Flirting FAIL

Flirting is an artform at which I’ve achieved finger-painting skill. My crude responses to flirting are either ignorance or more often, total discomfort. To illustrate, on Thursday morning I was trying to be a normal person buying coffee but hot barista started talking to me, “Hey, were you at that Black Heart Procession show a few weeks ago?” me: “Uhhh, I don’t know what that is, but I go to a lot of shows.” In my head I’m thinking that sounds like some emo shit. Him: “I’m pretty sure I saw you, by yourself, at Dante’s?” No idea why, but this is when my face bursts into crimson to match my bloody eye and bolero, ugh. “Oh yeah, the J. Mascis show” and awkwardly mumble something about getting tickets on a whim and being too lame to stay for the main act. Blah blah blah, at this point, I just wanna sprint away with scalding coffee in hand. I’m pretty sure most of my flirting encounters go like this… watch and weep.
 
I wish I could keep it together and be cool. Most of my friends are über-smooth, controlling their skin color and talking in complete sentences and eye-fucking strangers with panache. In a rare moment of coolness, I casually winked at a friend last night (like, it looked good, I promise) and she just burst into laughter and said, “WHAAAT?! Did you just WIIINK at me?!?” Sigh. Attempted coolness thwarted. I could either come to terms with my amateurishness or simply start wearing masks in public.
 

Who am I kidding? The masks would only allow me to say weirder things.