How many times has a man strutted into shops purely because there was a babe working there? Answer: seven (based on a survey of me). And how many of these adventures ended, not in the expected seduction, but in total embarrassment? Answer: ten (based on a survey of me and the next biggest loser in town). This is a tale of one such adventure, one of mine, that began in a little ski shop in Sierra Nevada, Spain.

The shop assistant was behind the counter. She was pretty enough to be Miss World, but I didn't chance it as it's not a very Spanish name. It was early morning.

"Buenos Nochas," I said (in Spanish). Women like educated men. I meant it more as a promise than a greeting, but she wasn't to know that yet. Nor would she because, after no more than 1.09 seconds into the seduction, I had blown it. Once again, my body had surpassed itself in its effort to come up with another extravagant way in which to embarrass me.

I had been at the ski resort for a few days. It was really hot and I had no sun-cream. I was suffering from sunburn that, during the night, dried my lips so completely that they began flaking. The result was that anytime I uttered a word beginning with an explosive letter, like B for example, I propelled a cloud of charred skin from my lips that hung in the air for a while then fluttered to the floor. And what letter does "Buenos" begin with? Answer: the same one as "Bollox". Which is exactly what I said, and unleashed another cloud of fried lip towards Miss World. She blinked in fright. I cried.

I had sauntered into the shop like the ghost of Don Juan, only to blow 50% of my smackers onto my chosen lover's floor. Who'd want to kiss that? Might as well shift a bowl of Bran Flakes. I tried to recover, as you do in these unrecoverable situations.

"How much are these?" I asked, reaching over nonchalantly to the nearest thing at hand and trying to move my lips as little as possible.

"1600 pesetas."

"Oh, is that all?" I said, with as much sophistication as a decomposing man can muster. I figured that since it looked like I was dying of leprosy I might as well try to save some face (forgive the pun) by pretending I was loaded. "I'll take three."

"Ees for the ladies," she said.

"Well, yes I am," I said, warming up a little in the hope that this girl might be blind.

"No," she said smiling, "The pants, ees for the ladies." She pointed to what I was holding. It was a pair of bright pink ski pants.

"Yes, I know," I lied, taking on the same colour as the pants. "I'll take three."

"I wrap them for you?" I was about to say no before I realised doing so might indicate that I intended wearing them.

"Yes please. Wrap them really well."

There was an awkward silence while she reached for the Sellotape and wrapping paper. I tried to compose myself by brushing my hand through my hair. A portion of my forehead dislodged itself and fell to the floor. It brought with it a large number of follicles, in the same as a landslide brings trees. They fluttered to the floor to join my lips. "Feck sake," I thought, "who the hell am I kidding?" I gave up on the whole "looking cool" thing, fully expecting a limb to loose itself from its socket at any minute. I envisioned myself having to be removed from the shop in some kind of urn.

So I decided to stay totally quiet and still. But now she wanted to talk. Of course she did. Bloody bitch. Talking was fine now, because I was about to spend 5800 pesetas on the only three items in the shop that couldn't otherwise be sold.

"Where you from?" she asked.

"Ireland," I said and we both watched a layer of my face float into the package she was wrapping.

"You like the ski?"

"Umm-hmph," I murmured. None of me fell off. Managed to get away with that one. More of those kind of questions please.

"And where you stay?". I pointed in the general direction. There was no need in her knowing exactly where my room was.

"In the hotel?".

"B and B," I said and the double explosion of skin nearly blinded her. It was the worse blizzard she'd seen in years. She brushed it casually from her hair. She was being kind. If only she'd stop asking questions.

"When you go home?" I'm not sure she'd didn't believe she'd have to post me.

"Right now, if I could," I said, smiling as much as cracked lips allow. I'm not sure she appreciated the humour. Thankfully the interrogation was over as she'd completed the wrapping. I paid and grunted some sort of farewell and, as I was about to leave, considered offering to sweep myself up. But common sense prevailed and I took my exit.

I ran next door to the chemist to buy a five gallon drum of moisturiser. There was a babe behind the counter. I began to sense a conspiracy. She smiled at the trail I was leaving behind me. Now that I'm home and in less stressful times, I think back on this situation and figure I should have gone in there pretending to sue her for the over-zealous exfoliating cream she sold me. But I didn't. I was in need more of medication than amusement. Besides, I don't think my Spanish would have been quite up to it. It's what you might call a little bit flaky.

Apart from that I had a great time. My face has healed and my ego is beginning to occasionally poke its head out of its shell again. Soon I'll have to confidence to have another go at seduction and shopping. My Dad recommends it. It's how my parents met. "And sure," he says, "doesn't a man have to shop somewhere anyways?" Answer: yes Dad, of course he does. But not for pink ski pants.