Arguments aren’t my preferred mode of conversation, especially not when the unstated objective of that conversation is to charm a woman. There exists some anecdotal evidence to the contrary, but I swear on a stack of bacon that I never intend for that to be the case. Yet this past weekend I found myself in another of those conversations where flirtation eventually takes the form of disagreement.
The Extremely Blue-Blooded Blonde, not to be confused with the Bible Thumping Blonde and certainly not my favorite Blonde, and I met while waiting for the Metro after I had left happy hour. Perhaps because I had left a happy hour where I had a sufficient quantity of beer to think that leading group karaoke was a good idea, but I don’t recall how our conversation started.
I do recall that we somehow transitioned into a discussion of education policy and necessary reforms. Despite the weight of the topic, our conversation was light, and sufficiently flirtatious that I invited her to join me for a drink as we approached my stop. It was a throw-away invitation – who actually meets people on the Metro – I fully expected to be met with a polite refusal. Yet she was enthusiastic in response to this invitation (maybe because it happened to be her stop, her neighborhood too.)
As we walked the ½ block from the station to one of my favorite locals, I learned that she is an Ivy League alumna. I was shocked that it took this long to glean this information as people from this particular school are usually wont to inform anyone who doesn’t know of their gilded education as soon as possible. That background nugget was the first one of a mine of privilege.
Over the course of two cosmopolitans (her) and two beers (me) I learned that she has the typical trappings of Trustafarian life. I don’t play well with people who have never worked for a living, but our conversation was still civil, flirty. And then we started talking about economics and politics. Our discourse became more pronounced, philosophical gaps grew wider and yet our respective interest in the other moved in opposite trajectories.
The night ended unremarkably – I walked her home, there was brief door step conversation and invitation before I declined and hopped a cab back to my house. As I sat in my coffeshop a day later, I tried to create a word that encapsulates this strange phenomenon – one word that indicates argument as aphrodisiac, disagreement as flirtation.
Discourplay?
Arguflirtion?
Both of those words suck. Come on blogosphere, help me craft a word – Urban Dictionary doesn’t have anything that covers this. What do you think?
this sounds like a case of controfrisson to me. or perhaps alteroticism.
given my penchant for alliteration I might have gone with alliteroticism
Argudisiac?
I suggested that in g-chat with the Fearless One, but she vetoed.
Pigtails in the inkwell syndrome?
In novels they call it sexual tension. Because falling into each others arms is too boring. So it’s a round of ratcheting sexual tension?
Nah.
I vote for Lilu’s Argudisiac.
It might be a manifestation of latent sexual tension but I am not sure either party is the proximate cause of the others.
There are three words for this: Lemmonex’s dating history.
…and to think that I have been pissing you off for months and nothing.
Ugh, I can’t believe that LiLu came up with argudisiac. Although, it is kind of growing on me.
not to say that I told ya so, but I did
Ohh. I am going to have to think on this.
Me too, I’m still surprised no Urban Dictionary entry has covered this.
I believe they call this ambivalence.
you say that like it’s a bad thing?
To amend my above post- because while you might have felt something at the time, was it really like a passionate rage? Or just a passing interest… that really doesn’t matter now at all?
My only passion for superficially intellectual blue-bloods lies in knocking them down a few rungs.
wow ..you sure seem to have quite the stable of blondes these days!
that said ..
umm really? she ordered a cosmo?? shes a poser…
xoxo
despite recent anecdotal evidence, this gentleman does not prefer them.
Flirgument?
Do you remember trying to force me to sing? Do you remember?
That was nearly the worst idea you ever had.