******

“You want someone ‘normal?’” I said to ******. “Why, pray tell, would you hang out with me?”
“Yer funny,” she said. “Not boring as Hell.”
Perhaps it’s because I’m like her deceased husband: snide remarks, wry comments, put-downs, etc.
For example: “It’s not a date until I pay for yer meal!” “I’ll hafta forget my wallet.” “I’ll bail you out, but I expect to get repaid.”
****** and I are far apart. Except we both lost our beloved marriage-mates, ****** five years ago, and me six.
Our friendship began with a third person, a guy who lost his longtime wife five years ago. A daughter suggested I eat out with him, which relieves me of cooking a meal.
I met my widower friend earlier at a church grief-share. He was distraught. I thought I could help. ****** might also have come to that grief-share.
Eons ago ****** and her husband founded a successful local business. She sold after her husband died.
Later we all moved to a hospital support-group, although that didn’t last long. I suppose by then we no longer needed grief support, although that was three years ago, and only now am I returning to reality — or so it seems.
****** occasionally ate out with me and my widower friend, although recently he fell, plus he might have had a stroke. He was hospitalized.
So now it’s just me and ******, a super-confident lady in her 60s, versus a clumsy 74-year-old loathe to do anything. I enjoy the company of ladies, but don’t need it. I get by on-my-own; plus I know who I am, and like it.
****** enjoys men, and is outgoing enough to pursue. She’s involved in online “Silver-Singles” (whatever), and I’m not interested.
This often leads to “dates.” Some widower took her to dinner, but was “boring as Hell.” Poor guy. How does anyone entertain a ******? “He didn’t even ask my background!”
So here we are: me a complete opposite of ******, but apparently not “boring.”
“Yer dog actually likes you?” ****** snaps.
“Follows me room-to-room. He knows I’m the park-dude.”
“Don’t gimme that!” ****** yells. I noted I needed a nap after walking my dog.
“Pup!” I shouted. “Early 60s ain’t 70s. Plus you just told me you fagged out after four days babysitting yer grandchildren.”
RE: the guy who took her to dinner.... —Probably afraid of freaking her out.
I, on the other hand have a habit of saying things that get me in trouble. Who was to know my penchant for snide remarks would appeal to ******?
(Does it? I haven’t lost her yet.)

• The other day ****** and I visited my widower friend in a local VA hospital. He was tired, but looked good.