I am a terrible flirt. When I was single, my attempts in flirtation were such disasters that my vagina would reach out from between my legs and slap me across the face (splat!).
I was - and still am - convinced that everyone else's dates were like short romantic comedies. With perfectly timed clumsy head buts that predictably lead to the magical moment of their first kiss. My version was something more like me tripping over something ridiculous like a leaf, falling in a puddle of hobo crack barf, and nervously sweating so much my pickachu smelled like crab cakes.
But my story ends well, as I am getting married to a man, a thing of wonder.
*yep, my cunt's a dude.