Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again...

I GOT a smile from a stranger the other night.
Not just any stranger though: this one was an attractive young lady who smiled and started playing with her hair as I left the fish and chip shop up here in Port Douglas. It certainly made an otherwise mundane trip for food more exciting than normal, and helped ease the pain of having to pay $4.40 for a serve of chips and a potato scallop/cake.
I'd like to be able to report that I got chatting with said girl, kicked on with a few drinks later on, then went back to her room and swapped recipes for scones, but I can't. She was with a group of friends, and I was walking out of there in the first place, so a combination of nerves and a desire not to appear desperate scotched that idea.
Shame really. Was looking for some new scone recipes too.
All this just confirms that I'm part of a group of males I like to call The Pessimists. To be a Pessimist you have to know exactly when a girl isn't interested, but don't have the foggiest idea when they are.
For example, if a girl starts giving off positive body language - say playing with her hair, physical contact, watching you intently - a Pessimist will realise that, then begin thinking that perhaps she is interested, but maybe I'm reading it wrong, but on the other hand... Meanwhile, the window of opportunity is rapidly closing, eventually snapping shut with the girl walking off disappointed and the Pessimist suddenly realising he's seriously fucked up.
This is something I'm really good at. While overseas I had one memorable night where a girl kept putting her hand on my chest and saying they were hanging around, then her friend buggered off when we were on the dancefloor. I did nothing, friend came back, moment's over. My excuse was that every guy in the club was hitting onto her, so I didn't want to appear like a sleaze.
That's the other thing about Pessimists: they tend to be described as "good guys", a description they like to keep.
Of course, this is a complete opposite to the Optimist, who thinks every girl on the planet is attracted to him, and any that say they aren't are clearly suffering from a major hormonal imbalance.
Anyway, enough rambling. In the words of the Angels, I might wait at the bar; maybe she might show. Am I ever gonna see her face again?
Hopefully I won't get "no way get fucked fuck off" in reply.