“Where do you work?”
Usually, when confronted with a little hottie wearing glasses and one of those denim, mini-then-frilly skirts, I try hard to focus around her eyeline, lest my eyes get sucked down to those perky D’s she appears to be sporting. There be dragons.
“Do you really care where I work, or are you just making conversation, girl?”
“No, I really do care, I’ve seen you in town. Second, I think”. Sigh. Can’t be me cos I’m hardly ever in Second Street. And not often enough for someone to think I work there. This is going to be tricky.
“That’s not me, I’m never in…”.
Interception, Bryan Habana-style; “Yes it was, I never forget a face. I noticed you, you usually wear a suit with no tie”. Confident, hmmm.
Deep breath. Calm down, Joey, she’s got really nice tits. But (oh yeah, and a nice butt) we can’t have her thinking I’m some kind of employee, no way.
“You know, I’m really flattered by the attention but you have to realise that it wasn’t me. Seriously, today’s Sunday and I can meet you at lunch tomorrow, in sneakers and definitely not in Second Street!” See what I did there? Sneaky little hobbit, that’s me.
Resignation. “Okay, I guess so. I must be going blind”.
“Don’t worry sweety, you’re absolutely perfect, let’s see you with those glasses off…”
This is going to be so fucking easy.