Flirt to Convert

I got this phrase from a comment left on another blog that I frequent often. It’s a doctrine that some Pentecostal girls and guys subscribe to for lack of available fish in the pond of believers. “Flirting to convert” in its more advanced stages is called “missionary dating.” And if the conversion doesn’t happen before the wedding date, it’s called “unequally yoked.” So, for reasons that need not be detailed, I’m not a subscriber.

However, I have found myself in a circumstance that may lead others to believe that I am a subscriber, and I do protest that I am not. But, lest I run the risk of protesting too much, I will describe the circumstances and let them speak for themselves.

It all started with a quesadilla.

My mom and I are lovers of Mexican food, and we frequent a restaurant called San Marcos. Tuesday night, we went out for quesadilla dinners. Now, every time we go to a Mexican restaurant, I order in Spanish. Oftentimes, when I do, I get the attention of the Spanish-speaking waiters, and things get a little flirty. I know this. But I do it anyway. Sad, but true.

So, Tuesday night was no different. This time, one of the busboys sort of eased on over to where my mom and I were sitting and started chatting in Spanish with me, telling me about Mexico and discussing cultural differences between Mexico and the US. Eventually he got around to wanting my phone number. Why? He claimed that he didn’t have many friends and that he really needed help with his English. I laughed.

(In Spanish) “You’re telling me you’ve been in the United States for 6 years and you work at a restaurant with plenty of people from your country and you don’t know any English or have any friends? I don’t believe you.”

He proceeded to promise that he was telling the truth. “That’s why I can’t work as a waiter—because I can’t speak English.” He then went on and on about how he really just wants someone to talk to, he wouldn’t bother me or ask me to go out . . . I was skeptical even when he said that he was 24 until he showed me his ID. He looked to be more in his late twenties. I will admit, though, that he was a hottie. And taller than most men his persuasion. Side note: I’m almost embarrassed at how easily I am attracted to Hispanic men. Even so, I kept telling him, amidst his protests, that I didn’t think it would be a good idea for us to be amigos. Still, he persisted. Finally, Mom suggested that I invite him to church. I hadn’t thought of that. (Bad me.) So, I told him that I would give him my number if he agreed to come to my church. He lit up. He said he would love to come . . . yadda yadda yadda. Before we left, he said he would call Sunday afternoon to get directions so that he could make it to the Sunday night service.

Sunday afternoon, he calls. I give him directions to the church in my not-so-perfect Spanish. I have a feeling that he’s going to be a no-show. I don’t know why.

Sunday night, he’s a no-show.

Sunday night post-church, he leaves a message. As I get the phone to call him back, it rings. It’s him. In his rapid, non-stop Spanish, he explains how he got lost and how he went back and tried to find it but couldn’t, he’s sorry, but he tried . . . as I suspected. But then we ended up talking for a while on the phone. He still claims to just want to be friends, it’s so rare for him to have an American friend because he can’t speak English, and on and on. (sigh) I feel myself slowly starting to give in. Aw, give the guy a chance. Maybe he’s not a typical guy just out to see what he can get. Maybe he does just want a friend to talk to and to help improve his English.

Part of me says, "Nip it in the bud, you're making yourself look desperate. A Mexican busboy?" But the other part of me is intrigued and is like, “Why? You're not trying to get with him or anything. You could use a bit of brushing up on your Spanish anyway.” How do I get myself into these quandaries? Next time I go to a Mexican restaurant, I’m keeping my mouth shut.