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"Remember our little dating challenge? Well, I got started on it. I decided to start easy with the first challenge on the list (warning: I may not continue doing them in order), &amp;amp;#8220;Smile at a hot guy every day for a week.&amp;amp;#8221; Despite having lived in New York City for a total of about eight years now, I still haven&amp;amp;#8217;t lost my Midwestern sensibilities, meaning I always say thank you, and I smile at everyone. Still, let&amp;#x27;s see what happens when I purposely concentrated on taking my smiles from &amp;quot;Howdy neighbor&amp;quot; to &amp;quot;Eye sex&amp;quot;... Day One: It&amp;amp;#8217;s Friday night, and I&amp;amp;#8217;m wearing my new army green (p)leather short shorts, so it&amp;#x27;s on. I meet some old law school friends for a drink, which turns into too many drinks. I smile at a guy sitting down the bar, who smiles back but immediately returns to his dinner. Fair enough, buddy. I wouldn&amp;amp;#8217;t choose me over food either. But next, I meet an artist and take a picture with him, and at the end of the night, the bartender asks for my phone number. I&amp;amp;#8217;m on my grind, as Tracy Jordan might say. Day Two: I wake up to an email from the artist calling my ability to be a writer &amp;amp;#8220;flawless&amp;amp;#8221; (sorry you guys, he&amp;amp;#8217;s my favorite reader now), and later that day, the bartender texts. That evening, I go out for a girls&amp;amp;#8217; dinner. Our pre-dinner cocktail waiter is cute but kind of surly, but I&amp;#x27;m riding the flirt wave from last night, so I go for it. After several attempts to charm him, I finally get him to crack a smile back after making a joke about how the citrus-y mescal concoction I drank gave me acid reflux, but it won&amp;amp;#8217;t stop me from having another. Hide your boyfriends, ladies, because I am one smooth talker. Day Three: I smile at all the hot runners in the New York City Marathon as I watch them pass on my street corner. They largely ignore me, understandably, and after half an hour of standing around watching other people attempt to run 26 miles, my back hurts. Mental note: Join a gym immediately. Day Four: I spend the day at Glamour HQ and no handsome tourists in Times Square seem impressed by my cool-city-girl smile. That night, my roommate asks if anyone wants to go with him to Home Depot, and I snicker at first but then realize it could be a prime hot-guy-spotting opportunity. I smile at and have a lengthy discussion with the male cashier about our TV obsessions (him: The Walking Dead; me: Scandal) while my roommate rolls his eyes at my decision to purchase metallic gold paint for my bedroom. Day Five: In line at Target, I make eye contact with the cutest of the three guys behind me and give him my flirtiest grin. We exchange looks enough times that I&amp;#x27;m pretty sure he&amp;#x27;s checking me out too. Then I start listening to his conversation with his friends, about whether or not they really need to buy the Clorox wipes, and I realize they are college or just-post-college babies. Sometimes I forget how old I am. I slink away before he can notice my slight crow&amp;#x27;s-feet. On the way home, I stop at a little gourmet grocery and beam at the guy at the cheese counter. He&amp;#x27;s not what I&amp;#x27;d call hot per se, but you guys, he is the person who gives me cheese. He gets ALL the smiles. Day Six: I have a date tonight with the bartender I met on Day One, so I&amp;#x27;m planning to just let that count, since a lady never smiles at two guys in one day. (JK.) But after the date ends on a sour note, I make an ill-advised decision to smile very flirtatiously at a guy in the subway station on my way home. He makes a move as if to come talk to me when I realize, dude, I just smiled at a stranger in a subway station at midnight as I&amp;amp;#8217;m about to walk home two blocks in the dark, alone. Not smart. I give a polite nod and bolt away. Day Seven: For my last day, I volunteer to take my neighbor&amp;#x27;s dog for a walk, reasoning that men love dogs. Immediate snags: People only look at the dog, not me, and when someone asks what kind of dog it is, I wince and stammer, &amp;quot;Uh&amp;amp;#133;my neighbor&amp;#x27;s kind?&amp;quot; D&amp;#x27;oh. I spot a gorgeous, well-dressed guy on the corner who completely ignores us both, which makes me appreciate him more because he&amp;#x27;s clearly not a dog person, and neither am I. But as I&amp;#x27;m trying to work my smile magic on him, two women start ooh-ing and aah-ing over the damn dog, and when I finally get away from them, Mr. Snazzypants is long gone, and now I have to pick up poop in a plastic bag. Sigh. Summary: One phone number request (and subsequent date), one instance of flirting with possible teenagers, one dog-ruined chance to meet the potential love of my life. I&amp;#x27;ll stick to this one though, because: Source How did I do? Have any of you tried this one? Following along with our dating challenge? Tweet to @glamourmag (and me, @GenaKaufman) using #smittenchallenge to let us know how it&amp;#x27;s going!"^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
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