Did I leave that sign on my forehead again?

Apparently, I look desperate. Either that, or romantically helpless. The anecdotal evidence:

For a special treat, I will occasionally trot across the street to the Marathon station and pick up lunch or dinner or whatever. Sometimes it just seems better than the old faithful PB&J. Sometimes my coworker, S., will accompany me. She's what I would call a "grown-up," meaning "old enough to have kids in high-school." She's also from Russia, which comes with a certain amount of frankness. As we sat under a tree this last time to enjoy our repast, she asked, "Why do you not flirt? You should be flirting with that guy. He is a nice guy, yes? He smiles at you. Why are you not nice back to him?" In all honesty, the idea of pursuing a relationship with the gas station guy had simply not struck me. Should it? I'm really not sure. What would my mother say, after all? I endeavor to be pleasant, but I don't think I will ever really master the art of flirting. Maybe if I cared enough for that sort of book or movie... What am I supposed to do, mention how quiet things are at the old Music Institute, perhaps with a suggestive wink? Somehow, it doesn't seem my style.

We have finally hired a new guitar teacher here. I met him briefly on Saturday, and yesterday M., my boss, began to suggest (with an utter lack of subtlety) that I should get to know him well and soon. "Oh, he's really cute," she says. "He has these great big blue eyes," she says. And the conversation for the rest of the afternoon repeatedly returns to that theme. "He wasn't wearing a ring," she says. Do I look like I am in desperate need of a cute, blue-eyed guitar player in my life? Because I haven't enough to do at the moment? Because I'm so utterly lonely and depressed and looking for love at every turn? Honestly! I appreciate the concern, I'm so glad that somebody cares, but you can lay off a little!

They write songs about this sort of thing. "But he's a good man, a fine catch! True? True!" This was the final complication my life required: a good old-fashioned "Yente" or two!