I'm glad I wore my corset, for fears my side would split.
So hilarious this guy on here is nitpicking Sasha's approach.
It reminds me of those guys on football phone-ins on the radio who call in to bitch about the manager even though their side went down to ten men, yet still won 3-0 away at the team who is top of the league.
Let's look at the facts: in the dark, on the street, in a foreign country, dressed in a 'Back To The Future' T-shirt, this guy chased down a beautiful young girl seven years his junior.
He opened her, overcame her apprehensions and fears, and within fifteen minutes had given her a moment she will be able to treasure and to tell her grandchildren about in half a century's time.
Not only that, in that short space of time, his charm and charisma and powers of persuasion managed to get her out to meet him again for what seemed like a fun and super-romantic date.
Do I think he closed her? Yes, probably - and I think that was the easy part.
Now, I don't know about you, but pick-up to me is all about: Getting The Job Done.
It's not a ballet, it's not a beautiful poem, and there will always be bumps in the road. If you get the job done, even if you have to win ugly, then the pick-up has been successful - whether it was messy or could even be improved upon is actually irrelevant.
If you approach and you're George Clooney-smooth, you open in text book fashion, you follow all the golden rules of the Jedi-Zen-Pick-Up Masters, and your approach and interaction is so perfect it should be nominated for The Turner Prize and you don't get the pussy then, guess what? You fail and you go home to your palm and a jar of Vaseline. (Cue: sad trombone music)
Sasha got the job done. Beautifully.
End of discussion.