carine hartman 2021

By Carine Hartman

Chief sub-editor


Taking a bullet for flirting

“I like you as a friend, you are cheerful and intelligent, but I am afraid we are not compatible."


The no when it came was stark: “I like you as a friend, you are cheerful and intelligent, but I am afraid we are not compatible. I was trying to be polite to fend you off last night. I hope you find the right man to spend time with. Best wishes…”

Wow.

“That coffee is never going to happen as I’m moving to Timbuktu” would have rubbed the salt in better.

I mean, I wasn’t exactly looking to get married. I just liked your Greek nose, darling.

And the drama queen in me kicked in when I saw how the neighbour across the table was enjoying the flirting.

Apology, my flirting. You were too busy fending me off with your chastity belt. Which I noticed, by the way.

I that same night told my best friend: “He won’t call. He doesn’t get me.”

But the neighbour did. And every giggle from her egged me on, down to the soppy quote from Notting Hill I threw your way: “I’m just a girl standing in front of a boy…” See? I didn’t even say the bit “…asking him to love her”.

Because it’s not love I wanted. That I have – in abundance. It’s fun I wanted. Just fun.

And don’t deny the spark, by the way. That I can smell a mile away after all these years.

ALSO READ: He Said/ She Said: Does flirting via text message count as cheating?

I know you threw the dagger of “there may be someone in Durban for me” at my heart, but my “not once you know me” got me a giggle-turned-snort.

At least my audience adored my show. Oh the games people play – or don’t, I suppose. Another lost art, flirting – like writing smelly letters and sending telegrams with cryptic messages.

In fact, in those days, we were all shocked that rugby boss Louis Luyt dared fire his PR man by fax.

Fax, I ask you.

Those days you picked up the phone if you didn’t have the guts to say something to my face.

The “he said, she said” days, because in those days we knew: paper is patient. A word penned can become the sword that cuts you.

But what would I know? I’m just a girl…

A girl who – as my wise son tells me – “must shoot the bullet, hey.

You never know when it will hit the target.”

A girl who will carry on flirting, guns blazing…

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