Don't Stare

We've all heard it, learned and accepted it as universal behaviour. Staring is considered rude. And I've lived by that rule for my entire life.

Enter Buenos Aires. You know, that whole cabaceo. Here at home, we talk about how tricky it is to figure out. It exists on a plane we don't understand. One that involves outright staring. No subtlety. No looking away. Just complete eye contact until the guy breaks off or asks you to dance, which ever comes first.

My first trip to Argentina, my upbringing overrode my instincts and I couldn't maintain eye contact up to that break-away point. I'd always wind up looking away first. Which gave the guy the signal that I wasn't interested. Although I knew I'd missed something, I had no idea what.

That didn't happen on my second trip. This time, I wanted to get kissed. I knew in order to do that, I had to signal interest. Enter the stare. Ha, no breaking eye contact for me. It netted me a ton of dances (and not a shabby number of kisses either).

Now I'm home. Where staring shouldn't be allowed again. Except I keep forgetting. Last night, I went to the theatre with friends. During the intermission, I'm talking to one of them and a very attractive fellow walked by. I stopped talking. Mid sentence. And stared at him. Until out of sight.

My friend pointed out that she'd noticed him earlier as his seat was only two rows ahead of us. Oh. Nice. I was comfortably nestled in my seat by the time he returned. Instead of sitting he stood as if looking for someone. Maybe he'd already spotted my adorable blond friend. I did mention she's adorable, right? Then our eyes met. And I didn't look away. Neither did he.

I realized enjoying a moment of eye contact here at home is just as wonderful as it was in Buenos Aires. This time, it didn't lead to a dance or even a kiss, but there will be other moments and I intend to look at them all.