So I met again with the Game Gang last night. We switched off from Go and started

Cribbage. Idris had me play Colin, his young nephew who learned the game from his Uncle. Lucky boy -- Idris is a good teacher and Colin totally kicked my behind.

I must be a glutton for punishment, because I eventually asked Idris if he'd like to play a hand or two. As he was repeating the example set by his nephew, we got to talking and I realized that Idris is not just a cute guy, but a nice one. An entertaining one with a sly wit and an easy smile. And now I'm sitting there, losing like it was a moral imperative, and grinning like a six year-old with a bag full of cupcakes.

As you know, I moonlight as a wench. What you may not realize is that the job requires a fair amount of social skills. We don't sell air or kidneys at the Souk: money spending happens out of desire, not necessity. So part of what we sell is customer service: the attitude and personality that makes shoppers want to buy, and to do it from us rather than next door at the Agora. A casually flirty attitude is part of the standard-issue uniform, and we learn fairly quickly how to chat up a customer and subtly lay down the charm.

So I can sell the latest bridles, or convince you to extend the warrantee on a GPS system for the last llama you bought, but I seem to falter when it comes to promoting my own agenda. I felt and probably acted like a middle-schooler, unsure if I should give the boy a smile or a kick in the shins to get his attention.

Unsure of what to do, I called in a ringer: Ash's brother Zack. And in a moment of true loyalty, he gave me some tips on the inner workings of the male mind. One of the suggestions he made was to revamp my wardrobe. Typically, my style runs to polyester leisure suits, but Zach tells me that guys don't dig that. He recommends girlyfying it up a bit: some belly shirts, maybe a little cleavage, some perfume.

I'll do anything once, so I snuck off to the Agora this morning and ran around wild for a bit, spraying myself with perfume and trying on new clothes. For a second, I felt like I was Paris Hilton, but I must really be Paris Motel 6 because the price tags brought the escapade to a screeching halt. I saw perfume that cost more than a month's worth of groceries, and some of the clothes looked like thrift-store deals at a 500% markup. My mom always told me to be myself, and at the prices I saw this morning, I'm thinking she gave excellent advice.

I can probably pick up a cute pair of pants at the Souk. The ones I have are worn, so it's a justifiable expense. As to the cleavage, I think I'll leave that to the imagination. I talk a big game, but I lack the follow-through, if you get my drift. But Zach insists the perfume is a must. I'm not sure how I feel about spending that kind of cash, though.

I wonder if Idris likes the smell of dryer sheets, toothpaste and soap?