Never-again

“Bob, that was the opportunity of a lifetime; you shoulda asked her to dinner!”
That was my good friend ******, who I eat out with most every week. ****** is a widow who like me lost her beloved, she six years ago, me approaching seven.
A third person had been joining us, but he fell or had a stroke, whatever, and had to be hospitalized. This most recent eat-out was the first time he rejoined us; his wife died too.
“Not this kid!” I shouted. “I’ve mucked up enough already. I ain’t pressurin’ that lady — she’s got enough worries as it is.
I already took yer advice once and crashed mightily in flames — NEVER AGAIN!” I said.
“Yer being ridiculous!” ****** said.
I was detailing my delivery of gift-seeds from the Red Cross to a lady-friend at the Canandaigua YMCA. It went over way better than expected. Which is interesting, since that morning I was scared to death to say anything to her or anyone else.
Some days my parents and Sunday-School Superintendent neighbor are ascendent; like how will I have enough nerve to say anything as promised?
That Sunday-School Superintendent is the infamous Hilda Q. Walton, who I’ve blogged many times. My parents were Bible-beating Baptists who agreed I was despicable.
“What yer seeing here is a compulsion left behind by my wife = ‘Don’t throw away seeds.’ So what do I do with these seeds? I can’t throw ‘em out. Maybe I’ll give ‘em to ****** ****; she’s not writing a blog every 10 seconds.”
And so I gave her the seeds.
She loved it, or so it seemed. She offered her hand, and we held hands at least 10-15 seconds.
“Yer just friends, right?” ****** said.
“Correct,” I said; “but doing so is always freighted with all that silly boy-girl stuff I’m never any good at.”
“It is not,” ****** shouted.
“I’m not you, and neither is that lady,” I said. “Never-again do I take yer advice for this boy-girl stuff.
Being myself doesn’t crash in flames. If she wants me to pay more attention, she’ll let me know. I ain’t pursuin’ that lady.”