Phoney Spumoni

So I used to have a crush on this guy.
I mean, I genuinely thought he was K-E-E-N.
Handsome and charming and funny.
Totally the kind of guy I'd wanna roll around and make funny noises with.

But the predictable thing about people is that eventually the truth of who they really are surfaces.
Like, rather than try and pretend I'm some demure feminine flower I prefer hitting my dates over the head with my lack of shame or subtlety.  Or restraint.
This is me.
Take me or leave me.
Or take me.

So this guy, this charmer, threw a little flirtatious glance my way, danced a little dance of possibility and I made room in a little corner of my imagination for him to exist.
My Maybe Transition Guy.

But through misinterpretation on my part, or deceit on his, our liklihood for romance was halted.
He just wasn't that into me.
So I cut my losses and moved on.

Weeks passed, hand in hand with my interest, and inevitably, our paths crossed again.
To my horror, he tried to continue the insincerity of his flirt with me.
Same smug smirk. Same sad show down.

He made a particularly scandalous comment and then made eye contact with me to try and make me the cream filling in his oreo of sleaziness.

Instead, I gave him the Resa raised eyebrow of disgust.

Eeeww.
Phoney Spumoni.

Are you flirting with me?
You who already sang your ballad of cowardice?
Why the pretense?
Why the need for feigned affection?


YOU. DON'T. LIKE. ME.

I don't need your put upon affection.

The truth is?
You're totally without.

Sorry Charlie.

I've moved on.

I've seen what genuine looks like.