My, what a big bagel you have

The other day, Barbara admonished me for my lack of skillz in the Flirting Arts. Apparently, my Three Point Plan is the reason why I am home alone on Friday nights Cloroxing my roommate’s spider plant. While the Plan is not foolproof, it has, on occasion, attracted a goitered Dominican or two. Carefully honed during five years of single sex education, the Plan involves an irresistible combination of:

1. Ignoring my target
2. Avoiding eye contact at all costs
3. Pontificating on the evils of circumcision (if pressed to communicate)

But because I am the sort of person who strives to better myself, I took Barbara’s advice to heart. This morning, the neighborhood Boy with Unusual Facial Hair provided a perfect opportunity for personal growth. We had, after all, exchanged meaningful glances a few times over the kohlrabi at the nearby corner store. Bolstered by our history together, I sauntered over to him as we both waited for the 7 train.

P: Wow, that’s a big bagel.
BWUFH: Yeah.
P: Can I have a bite?
BWUFH: …
P: Hahahahaha – just kidding! (laughing more maniacally than I would have hoped)
BWUFH: (Grasping bagel protectively as train pulls into station)
P: Seriously, that was a…
BWFH: (Swerves to enter different train car)

There’s more A material where that came from, Goatee Boy.