Feeling: PROUD, A STRONG, SEXY WOMAN
I’m actually rather shy and self conscious when it comes to guys. I always get told how I’m so confident, yada yada yada, but put me in a one-on-one conversation with someone I’m attracted to and it all blows to pieces. Unless I’m at least one wine in, which is when erratic, flirty Pop comes to light, interactions with attractive males are something I usually avoid.
Having broken up with the “good guy” (he truly was, the italics don’t suggest sarcasm here) who I thought may have been The One (TM) a few months back, males haven’t really been on my radar for a wee while. I’ll admit, for the first time EVER I was actually pretty heartbroken when we decided a mutual split was best to pursue our own interests. So aside from a few drunken pashes and one brief intoxicated tryst, there has been minimal interactions with anyone of interest other than crushes from afar.
While checking in at Auckland, Mumma Deb and I were having a giggle about how funny it would be of I bought home an Indian Boyf. Not being racist you see, it would’ve been the case regardless of what country was my destination. Looking up, we saw a rather hot looking fella ahead and Deb said, “There we go! A hot guy on your flight.” I caught his eye and immediately blushed and looked away, pretending to be riveted by itinerary documents.
Later, lining up for the gate, I caught him looking at me. At this point I must remind you I was looking extremely fetching with a floral scarf wrapped around my head, Deb’s saggy tights, my secure passport holder stuffed down my top resembling a big gut and of course, the ever-present hiking boots. Once again, I took off to the toilets to have a nervy wee.
And on board, I looked up mid intense heart-to-heart with my new mate Walter (see previous post), and there hot guy was again. Sod it, I thought. Time to be a strong, confident woman.
Under the pretence of filling my drink bottle, I scampered over to his area of standing space and sort of lurked there until he spoke to me. Not exactly the fierce approach I had in my mind, but a start I’m sure you’ll agree.
And my goodness, he was a beauty. Let’s call him South African Stallion, SAS. He was lovely too; we had a brief chat about our final destinations (he off to SA for his brother’s wedding and father’s 60th shindig), and how long we were in stopover before we were shooed to our seats by the stewardess. Congregating outside the staff area with rum and coke (him) and a strategically refilled water bottle (me) was frowned upon apparently. We said a temp farewell, and he said we could continue our discussion at length during our layover. (What did he mean by layover? The innocent meaning, or Poppy being laid over? Sorry, extremely crass). So I went back to my dear friend Susan and promptly comered out.
Side note: here I would like to insert a small spiel of gratitude. Singapore Airlines provide exceptional service. When you are flung out dead-to-the-world asleep on your tray table, & the man in front of you decides to recline at pace, the attendants are fantastic at immediately coming to your aid and freeing you from the headlock vice you are trapped in. ✈️✈️ Cheers, SA staff, I will think of your rescue capabilities whenever I move my head & feel the twinge.
Righto, back to SAS. So I disembarked the plane in Changi Airport and had a bit of a moment trying to figure out which of my new friends to walk with. Guide Susan to her transit lounge? Go for a swim with Walter and his wife? Take off on my lonesome to settle into a deep slumber? But then who should trot up behind me, but SAS. “Right,” he said. “Six hours up our sleeve.” I giggled, got caught in the strap of my bag and tripped over my shoelace. Always so poised in all situations, I am.
But the next six hours flew by. We stopped in at the Butterfly Garden, hung at MCDs while he smashed a Big Mac, discussed our similarity in life outlooks, made a mad dash from Terminal 1 to Terminal 3 when a friend randomly messaged me he was in A11, and had a nap on the side of a travelator, me using him as a pillow. Nothing untoward, nothing more than him massaging my shoulder, but it gave me this surge of confidence in myself. I don’t even know if he was attracted to me, yet I felt funny, sassy, maybe even a little bit sexy. (Until I saw my reflection – sexy flew right out the window). We said our goodbyes, had a big hug as he lifted me in the air, then he was gone.
Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that sometimes stepping outside your comfort zone can be as simple as smiling at someone you find attractive. It doesn’t have to be jetting across the world to an exotic country or signing up for an exerting activity – it can be as simple as going up and saying hi to a guy on a plane (or meandering close by until he does so to you).
SAS, I’m really hoping you do not come across this.