17/05/2013 05:48 BST | Updated 16/07/2013 06:12 BST

Indie Boys Don't Like Jam: Part II

As you may have established from my previous post, dealing with my inherent social ineptitude is a daily struggle. It is particularly visible when I am interacting in any way with the opposite sex. My last article was just one example of many. When I told the story to my roommate she reminded me of another, particularly humiliating time my brain went into autopilot in front of a boy. Or rather a man, in this instance. Don't worry, there is no jam this time. My incompetence with other humans is not confined to ridiculous statements about conserves that are only considered witty by ageing members of the W.I..

It was in the depths of last winter. I was undertaking a work placement in trendy Clerkenwell and had to travel through a number of commuter station, changing at Moorgate during rush hour. Due to the bitter cold I had bought a beautiful pair of green suede gloves with three little buttons down the side (this description is not crucial to the plot, but I wanted to provide context and also brag about my exceptional taste.)

I was in my default, disgruntled state and at the top of the escalator had dropped one of my glorious new gloves without noticing. As it was rush hour I was tearing my way through the station, dodging overweight men in suits and women in pencil skirt and trainers like I was executing an Olympic-level slalom. A man tapped me on the shoulder. He was good looking in a very regular way. The sort your nan would adore and instantly go out to buy a hat. He was not necessarily my type but as we have established, I can not afford to be too picky due to my inability to speak to anyone vaguely male.

"Excuse me, hello. Sorry, I think you dropped this" he said, with a warm smile. Now any normal girl in this situation would have said, "Thank you, that's so kind. You must let me buy you a coffee to say thank you." Or something equally smooth and effortless and normal. Not me. Obviously. The little rascal that is my brain thought it would be funnier to see this very mundane gesture as an effort towards victorian-style courtship. Women used to purposefully drop their handkerchiefs and a man picking it up was a signal of his reciprocated interest. Due to this I put on a the most over the top RP accent and rather shrilly yelled "What are you insinuating?!" While putting my hand on my forehead in order to feign a swoon.

He handed me the glove and walked away, swiftly. Maybe I should go for a more subtle approach next time and invest in a lace fan.