YOWZUH!
“Are you still making those train-calendars?”
A pretty clerk at the Victor Post-Office asked me that.
YOWZUH! She recognizes me from long ago, and even remembers I did train-calendars.
Flowing red hair — dyed, but not bad — and smashing to look at; probably in her 40s.
I went to the Victor Post-Office to pick up a large carton that couldn’t be delivered because I hadn’t plowed my driveway after a gigundo snowstorm.
I went there after a doctor physical.
Years ago that clerk worked at the West Bloomfield Post-Office. They have a copy of my annual train-calendar, and it’s their office calendar. Every time I visited I told this pretty clerk all about that month’s picture. She always was interested. —I was flirting, I suppose. She loved it.
For example:
“That train looks like it’s coming toward you. Actually it’s going away. The two locomotives are pushers; they are on the rear of the train pushing it uphill. My brother and I call that a ‘cheat-shot.’ The train looks like it’s coming, but actually it’s going away.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well now ya do.”
Many are bored when I explain train-photography, but not this girl. I think her name is “Janeen,” but that’s too far back. There she was, smiling broadly. I was dumbfounded.
Mrs. Walton, who I’ve blogged many times, is spinning in her grave. 14,000 rpm; harnessed she could power south FL.
As I’ve said before Mrs. Walton was my next-door neighbor and Sunday-School Superintendent when I was a child. Together with my Bible-beating parents she convinced me all men, including me, were SCUM!
“No pretty girl will ever wanna talk to you,” she’d declare.
My beloved wife died over six years ago. Since then I’m discovering Mrs. Walton and my parents were full of it.
Many girls love talking to me; contrary to what I expected. 70 years late I’m discovering this. Herewith the Post-Office clerk; it wasn’t me that started the conversation; it was her.
I planned to note she looked familiar, but she beat me.
Mrs. Walton is spinning in her grave. And I’m smitten. That pretty lady remembered me, and even my train-calendars. “This guy does train-calendars,” she told a coworker. “And they’re fabulous.”
Any pretty lady that recognizes me and my calendars gets a calendar of her own. She’s reversing Mrs. Walton.
A pretty clerk at the Victor Post-Office asked me that.
YOWZUH! She recognizes me from long ago, and even remembers I did train-calendars.
Flowing red hair — dyed, but not bad — and smashing to look at; probably in her 40s.
I went to the Victor Post-Office to pick up a large carton that couldn’t be delivered because I hadn’t plowed my driveway after a gigundo snowstorm.
I went there after a doctor physical.
Years ago that clerk worked at the West Bloomfield Post-Office. They have a copy of my annual train-calendar, and it’s their office calendar. Every time I visited I told this pretty clerk all about that month’s picture. She always was interested. —I was flirting, I suppose. She loved it.
For example:
“That train looks like it’s coming toward you. Actually it’s going away. The two locomotives are pushers; they are on the rear of the train pushing it uphill. My brother and I call that a ‘cheat-shot.’ The train looks like it’s coming, but actually it’s going away.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well now ya do.”
Many are bored when I explain train-photography, but not this girl. I think her name is “Janeen,” but that’s too far back. There she was, smiling broadly. I was dumbfounded.
Mrs. Walton, who I’ve blogged many times, is spinning in her grave. 14,000 rpm; harnessed she could power south FL.
As I’ve said before Mrs. Walton was my next-door neighbor and Sunday-School Superintendent when I was a child. Together with my Bible-beating parents she convinced me all men, including me, were SCUM!
“No pretty girl will ever wanna talk to you,” she’d declare.
My beloved wife died over six years ago. Since then I’m discovering Mrs. Walton and my parents were full of it.
Many girls love talking to me; contrary to what I expected. 70 years late I’m discovering this. Herewith the Post-Office clerk; it wasn’t me that started the conversation; it was her.
I planned to note she looked familiar, but she beat me.
Mrs. Walton is spinning in her grave. And I’m smitten. That pretty lady remembered me, and even my train-calendars. “This guy does train-calendars,” she told a coworker. “And they’re fabulous.”
Any pretty lady that recognizes me and my calendars gets a calendar of her own. She’s reversing Mrs. Walton.
Labels: Hilda Q. Walton School of Gender Relations, Hilda Q. Walton School of Sexual Relations
posted by BobbaLew at 2:48 PM
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