Flirting with Red Tartan

I have a friend who lies to her Dental Hygienist about her lifestyle.  When she visits for a clean and polish, a little too frequently, the hygienist is flummoxed by my friends stained gnashers.  My friend smokes, drinks coffee and tea, red wine but the hygienist is told that none of these lovely vices pass her lips. 

Why are we so bad at being honest about our lifestyles? I've done it. At the doctors I'll be a 2 a day smoker for the purposes of a health-check.  We can't cope with the dread that a person unrelated to you or not sleeping with, can be rudely frank and tell you off for something you enjoy.  No one wants to be told that you can only take a particular brand of contraception for a couple of years because when you hit 35 the risk of a thrombosis outweighs the benefits of a combined hormonal pill that prevents the inevitable.  I've realised I'm going to have to start lying now.

The thing I admire about this friend is she does it with the feigned innocence and charm of a girl without any cares except that her teeth are white and squeak when you rub your finger across them.

I met a punk rocker anarchist electrician last night.  But his punky credentials seemed a bit lost on me.  I don't think punk means the same anymore.  Maybe you'll get your lower lip pierced and wear some red tartan, but seriously, I thought punks are supposed to be violently outrageous?  The boy was tame. And easy it seems.  You can tell a boy is attached when he'll pretend it's okay to just flirt.  I was out with my new friend who is a terrific artistic girl all wrapped up in good accessories and pin-curls and this boy and his fellow tradesman mates were the only non-stuart-maconie* men in the bar.  So we just flirted.

*Stuart Maconie is a sardonic middle-aged radio DJ.