It’s a Tuesday night, so Brie and I are eating pho and discussing romance: in particular, my aversion to online dating.
You know, says Brie. You don’t have to meet men through online dating. You could go crazy and meet them in real life.
I could, I say. It’s true. I could! But I can’t wink. And I think that winking is a very helpful way of communicating interest in the real world. Otherwise, so often things never seem to progress beyond slightly over-long eye contact.
Really? says Brie.
She seems unsure.
Yes, I say. It has long been a great sadness that I can’t really wink. Maybe if I wore an eye patch.
I cover one eye with a hand and demonstrate.
Yes, says Brie. Because an eye patch is always appealing.
OK, I say. Maybe not an eye patch. How about this? I will wink at you and you will tell me whether it is something I could ever do to a man who I fancy. Or if it just looks scary.
We have just entered a sitcom, says Brie. OK. Go.
I wink once.
That’s fine, says Brie.
I wink again.
Hm, says Brie.
I wink a third time.
Oh my GOD, Brie says, recoiling to the other end of the sofa. Don’t do that again! I think three winks is too many! I have overdosed on winks!
Do you think I screw up my face too much? I say. I think winking only works if you can do it being fairly deadpan. The most effective wink I ever received was from a mostly deadpan face.
I think, says Brie, that maybe you should talk to someone first, before you wink at him.
Really? I say. Talk first? But this is England.
Yes, says Brie. I think winking is the second base of talking.
