Take today for instance. I'm in Waterstones running my fingers down the binding of a good hardback. I look up and lock eyes with someone of the very fit variety. We both smile at each other. He walks to another part of the fiction section and a few moments later I walk past. Again, we catch each other's glance. BINGO right? Thing is, I couldn't deny the reality of 'walking past' so in my best confident walk I strode by and picked up the first book I could find. Next thing I know, I've lost my potential hot date amongst the Maeve Binchys.
On the advice of Twitter friends I scoured the store from travel guides to humanities to see if I could find him to no avail. By the end of the search I couldn't help but feel a little like a stalker. I mean, if he'd got off the tram one stop before mine would I have got off too in the hope of conversation? I'd like to think not that's for sure.
I've decided the line between showing an interest and stalking is one best trodden on the side of caution. And possibly not whilst Twittering.