You're good.
I'll admit it. You are good at what you do. You remember peoples names, you notice subtle differences in people's appearances, you make patrons feel special. You are good at small talk. And you make it impossible to look at you in the eyes without getting completely flustered.
It's not just to women. Oh, no, you charm the men just as much as you do the ladies. In fact, I was there on a day you were flirting with/ charming three patrons of various ages, races and genders all at the same time.
That takes skill.
But look, I'm married. See my rings? And not only am I married, I am madly in love with my husband. I do a great job of appreciating a handsome man, while not swooning. I only swoon for my husband. I don't care if you look like Djimon Hounsou.
For the most part, I am great at strictly doing business with you. I'm in, I'm out, I don't make eye contact. But today--you remembered by name, talked about how we were almost neighbors and then wanted to talk about my tattoos. Damn you!
I even brought along a friend so she could witness your charms, and she was all atwitter and giggly. ITS IMPOSSIBLE TO NOT BE.
And the thing is...you KNOW it. You KNOW how charming you are, and how irresistable your charms are.
And you are goooood at it.
I am sure you have a lady that you go home to at night, and I have no doubt you treat her right. She's a real lucky lady.
But damn, Dude. Ease up. You're killing me, here! Don't make me go to the Walgreens next to my house.
See you next month...
Breast, I mean best,
Erica
