I have recently suffered a painful resurgence of my inappropriate infatuation (Or perhaps just a revival of regrets? Subtle difference!) with a woman who strangely fails to notice my existence.
It has reminded me of the following 'chat-up approach' that an American university buddy, JB, claimed to have used (although I rather doubt that he ever did):
"You don't dig me much, do you? But hey, what about if we were the last man and woman left on the Earth, and the survival of the human race depended on us? Surely you'd sleep with me then? You'd at least consider it, right? Of course you would! OK, so how about if there were only ten men left in the world? Would I have a chance then? How about twenty, or a hundred? I'm just trying to work out how many guys I gotta kill before you'd give me a shot. Give me a little guidance here."
Would this kind of spiel really work with anyone? Well, perhaps, once in a blue moon. I mean, it has a kind of charming directness about it. And I'm sure JB could deliver it with a finely-judged self-mockery. And sometimes - indeed, quite often, I think - mere persistence succeeds.
However, I fear the object of my affections wouldn't sleep with me even if I were the last man on earth.
So.... my work on the great biological WMD, the virus that kills only males, has been suspended. It's bad enough that she prefers everyone else to me. I don't think I could bear to learn that she would also prefer no-one to me!