'It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.'

Almost two hundred years ago, Jane Austen chose these words for the introductory line of what was to become one of her many celebrated novels. Today I was reminded of it by my old friend, when she said 'You know, Sjokoladepiken, a single guy will never be looking for friendship first'.

This puts me in an awkward position. I'm in a long-term relationship, a happy one, and apparently that is the social equivalent to leprosy.

After a little research, I found out that the rules go more or less as follows:
1) Do not befriend a single guy. It will end in tears and heartbreak, and no, you do not have a choice in the matter.
2) If you do talk to a single guy, you must never seem even remotely interested in him or what he's saying, because he will get the wrong idea.
3) Always be clear about the fact that you aren't on the market. If possible, talk about your boyfriend all the time, so as to not get single guys' hopes up. Otherwise they will assume that you'll leave your him for them if you don't. Duh.
4) We've all seen When Harry met Sally. It's not going to work out, so you might as well not bother.

I'm sorry, did I miss a meeting? If I were single, approaching and getting to know new guys wouldn't be a problem, but now that I'm off the market I have to be careful as to what sort of signals I'm sending out, because all new guys I encounter will think I want to screw them (in one way another)?

I'm not sure about how to phrase this, but I think the most accurate I can come up with is this: Huh?

This makes no sense. Unless, of course, we assume that when a girl talks to a boy, there is a common understanding that she really just wants to have his babies. I mean come on. Seriously? Did feminism just take a really long lunch break?

I know there are at least one or two of you who are thinking 'She really shouldn't be the first one to bring this up', because a couple of my 'friendships' have morphed into something less appropriate. Then again: I've been there, and I've learned two things.

1) You do not want to go to the Land of Parallel Relationships. It's really, really bad, in the humid, hot, natural disaster sort of way. I can't believe the flights aren't being cancelled, because once you've been there you'll never want to go back. Ever.

2) Stupidity is not an uncontrollable urge; it is a choice.  This specific kind of stupidity inevitably demands a conscious (though often alcohol-assisted) choice from two people. It takes time, effort and loads of practise to really mess things up; it is an art which took me months to perfect, and I'm a really fast learner. This isn't something that just happens. You have to really work at it to be able to include all the nuances of pain, heartbreak, disappointment and misery. It is a talent reserved for a precious few of us, and we keep our secrets close to our breast.

A loyal few of you might remember a quote I posted some time ago, reading 'Sjokoladepiken; you could flirt with a shoe.'

This came from my close friend aeva86 during one of our many conversations about flirting as a social tool. I’ve been planning to write a full-length entry on the subject of flirting ever since, but only this week have I actually done anything about it: I’ve been sitting at my computer for hours while trying to stitch together first an insightful, witty, quotable and mildly brilliant piece. After taking into consideration the advice that I shouldn’t set such high standards for myself, I swiftly rephrased that to ‘moderately readable’, and yet I failed miserably. So miserably, in fact, that my computer refused to save it. I almost fled Livejournal in search of a less demanding hobby, like Nordic walking, or colour-coordinating post-its. ‘But Sjokoladepiken,’ I thought to myself, ‘you’ve promised yourself you’ll complete this, so you’ll just have to find a way to do so. Remember what Grete said, and write about what you know.’ So, having discarded the whiny, self-indulgent, incoherent mess that could have stained your opinion of me forever, I will instead stick with what I do best: Nonsense.

Ok, now put away that judgmental face, or else I’m stopping right now. Good. Thank you. So let’s back to the flirting and the shoes. Besides being two of my best friends in the world, they are some big-time attention hogs who tend to get cranky when neglected.

First, though, I have a confession to make: I’m not very good at being able to tell when I’m flirting and when I’m not. On the whole, ‘flirting’ can mean so many different things, all depending on whom you ask to define it. Some would say that deliberately trying to seem fascinated by what Nameless Other Person von der Party Full of Strangers is saying (even though you might not be quite sure what exactly it is he’s going on about) is borderline flirtatious, simply because it’s a more deceptive way of handling social interaction than, say, standing silently in the corner so that everyone will understand that you don’t know anyone there (and aren’t really interested in changing that). Then there is the other, more full-on approach: ‘Do you mind of I sit on your lap? I might be a little heavy, but you look quite strong. Would it be very rude of me to ask you to flex?’ You know: sluttiness. There, I said what we were all thinking, wasn’t that brave of me?

At that end of the scale, though, I think we all more or less agree. At the other, more low-key end of the flirting spectrum, you will at one point encounter the very fine line that is drawn between what is called flirting and what is purely a form of socially intelligent behaviour that involves a specific body language with the intent to ease interaction. Not only is this line so thin that it is almost invisible (except in garish changing room light), its position also changes according to situation. It’s like the spring fashion; nobody really knows whether or not the ballerina pump is still hot. Vogue has it on its ‘discard immediately if you want to keep your self-respect through fashion week’ list, but InStyle is for the fifth season in a row celebrating the wonderfully ankle-slimming phenomenon that is toe cleavage as if Audrey Hepburn’s ghost had come back from the dead to tell the fashion editors that if they couldn’t squeeze one more season of hotness out of her signature shoe, she would pay Anna Wintour a visit and let her know that jeans in fact are a real no-no, causing figure-conscious women all over the world to embrace pocketed leggings and formal bike shorts in their absence.

I have this strangely familiar sensation that I’m losing focus. I was going to talk about what separates flirting from other behaviour in said grey area. Uhm, moving swiftly on:

I suppose the best way to determine what is and isn’t flirting is to look at the intention. While a lot of your everyday conversation-enabling behaviour is in the best interest of the majority, genuine, non-ironic flirting is always purely selfish. Not necessarily in a bad way, but it is: The flirters want something from the flirtees that they don’t believe they would get without a little pulling of strings (cue disapproving frowns). Some flirt to get laid. Some would bare a thigh for a free drink. Some, like myself, usually only flirt for the sake of the extra attention that enables you to have a conversation with a stranger that is more interesting than for instance one about the weather. So why is wanting more and actually doing something to get it so very, very unacceptable? People do it all the time, and more importantly, this happens on both sides of the ‘magic divide’.

Let’s think: Is flirting worse than, say, sucking up to the boss in order to try for a raise? Or telling a story at a party which is strictly speaking a slightly tweaked version of what actually happened? Aren’t these things just your basic Survival Strategy 101? What is it one does that is so immoral, or gets that is so undeserved? Does a little sexual tension really throw people off that badly?

I am the first to admit that there are times and places where flirting is out of the question. It is wrong to flash cleavage to the spotty fourteen-year-old in the supermarket to get a discount on peaches (so to speak). Your friend has recently dumped her boy, and you bump into him at a party: You want to stay far, far away (and fully clothed), even if he is the super-hot flex guy. There are plenty of situations where flirtatious behaviour would be mortifyingly inappropriate, you know, NATO conferences, funerals, that sort of thing. I have to point out this one small detail, though: People know that.

People also know that ending up as the wallflower is, frankly, a terrible waste of talent (and hairspray).

To be continued…