“Talk to me. Make me smile”

“I hope it was pure,” said a female lifeguard who works the Canandaigua YMCA swimming-pool where I do aquatic balance-training. It was Saturday afternoon, and I was on-my-own = not my aquacise class.
This wasn’t *****-the-lifeguard, who also enjoys our talking.
“Of course it was pure,” I retorted. “What am I, some Trump wannabee who thinks women are trophies? Yer likely to say something I wanna hear.”
This other lifeguard came to mind as I drove toward the pool. That drive is 20-25 minutes on rural roads. I hadn’t seen her for a while.
She’s married, but very quick-witted. She’s probably my best friend at that swimming-pool.
“Hi ******; how ya doin’? I hereby practice my newly-discovered social skills, nonexistent for 70+ years.”
When she responded asking how I was doing, I crashed. For 70+ years I been saying “Okay, I guess.”
“Keep trying,” I told her. “Don’t give up on me. I’ll get the hang of it some day. I did with *****; now it’s yer turn.
Some day I’ll be more sociable with everybody. I been hiding all my life. I was convinced as a child no one would ever wanna talk to me.”
I try “how ya doin’” on other ladies. They smile, and I can’t resist. It makes me wanna try again. This negates my upbringing. “No pretty girl will talk to you.”
The other day ***** (not ******) came over and smiled at me. I could hear it: “Talk to me. Make me smile.” This is so contrary to my upbringing. ***** is 63, but statuesque and in stellar shape, in other words “pretty.”
“No pretty girl will talk to you;” but here I am talking to *****. She wants me to. I’m dumbfounded.
Months ago ***** said hello to me by name in passing. I hardly heard her, but managed the nerve to say hello back — late of course. Ten years ago I woulda walked away.
Now she smiles at me. She doesn’t know my difficult childhood, that we’re countering my Bible-beating parents and neighbor Sunday-School Superintendent, all too eager to convince me I was scum. (That neighbor’s husband was probably fooling around, and I couldn’t worship my father as worthy of the right hand of Jesus.)
There were others before *****, but not as successful. How I succeeded with ***** I have no idea. I certainly bombed enough.
And now I try others. I get smiles I never expected. That neighbor and my parents are spinning-in-their-graves. 14,000 rpm; enough to power FL south of Orlando.

• I do aquatic balance training in the Canandaigua YMCA’s swimming-pool, two hours per week — plus a third hour on my own.