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The flirt wears eye make-up; her long lashes are lengthened and filled out and blackened by mascara. The flirt has lips puffed by injections of toxic substances; she has no wrinkles, for the same reason. The flirt has very big hair. Over the years, the flirt's clothing has become more and more revealing, using less and less fabric.
The flirt wears Manolos or, if she's a low-rent flirt, Manolo knock-offs. Whichever they are, she can't walk in them any longer than it takes to get from her front door to the waiting taxicab. She can, however, when she wants, dance in them all night long.
The flirt smiles a lot, especially when she is surrounded by men. Where did she learn to do this? As a four-year-old winding daddy around her little finger? As a pre-teen giggling with her buddies during a sleepover? As a teenager watching music videos that glorify the flirt? However she learned it, her kittenish mannerisms are natural to her now, not second-nature but first-nature. Her kittenish ways are what she thinks of (were she to think this way) as her true self.
Does the flirt have long-term goals? A short-term goal might be to attract all the men at the party, or to go home with one of them. But long-term? Does she want my husband? Yours? Any? If she were to marry, would her husband insist that she stop her flirting ways and avoid parties? Can a leopard change its spots? Well, if the leopard is actually wearing a skin-tight leopard-skin print, she certainly can change it. She can wear sweatpants and stay home and cook bacon and eggs for her hubby.
What an ignominious end for a flirt!
I am not a flirt. When I am among my husband's business associates, I am invisible. Three or four of them, after several years of opportunity, have learned to acknowledge my existence. But only one actually talks to me at length. He is not a flirt, but compared to the lack of attention afforded me by the others, his attentions feel as good as if he were. He responds to what I say. He smiles at me. If this be flirting, I say, let's have more of it.
At a party, wives keep their eyes peeled for flirts. Tightly knotted around the mantel, the chatting wives seem to be engrossed in their conversation. But, like the ant-guards posted around an ant-hill, certain of the women are on the alert for flirts. They know where their men are and what they are doing. And if they see a predator (sorry, a flirt) approach the hockey-talking, weather-reporting men, they warn the other women in the knot without a word, and action is taken. The knot untangles and the women drift slowly throughout the room, throwing blocking maneuvers or distractions at danger points. A flirt doesn't stand a chance against this determined and aware spousal sideswipe. Wives 1, Flirt 0. Men: still without a clue.
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