“You think too much”
“It’s all in your head!” said my good friend ******. We were eating out, as we often do.
“I’ve thought that myself,” I said.
****** is a widow. Like me she lost her beloved, six years ago for her; almost seven for me.
“Yer problem is you think too much,” she added.
Agreed, but I’ve heard it before.
Sadly I think there’s a reason. Yrs Trly is a graduate of the Hilda Q. Walton School of Gender Relations. (No need to explain that to constant readers.)
Early in my childhood Hilda convinced me all men, including me, were scum. My Bible-beating parents heartily agreed. (No need to explain that either.)
“No woman will ever wanna talk to you!”
When that happens, as it has with increasing frequency, I wonder why.
“Are they lonely?” “Do they need companionship?”
WHOA, dude! What about friendship?
Since my wife died I discovered I enjoy conversation with women, and they seem to enjoy conversation with me. While married I avoided contact with other females, who I was scared of anyway. I already had a female who liked me.
Marked for life by Hilda, et al, I wondered why any lady would enjoy my company. Hilda led to many muck-ups. There also is my lack of female contact over 70 years. Anything that happens with females I over-analyze, which leads to wonky conclusions.
“Is she lonely?”
Get real dude! “It’s all in your head! Yer blowing ordinary behavior way outta proportion. Especially with ladies —that’s Hilda.”
The other day I experienced the REAL ****** ****, as opposed to “the ****** **** in my head,” who never gets mad at me, and is predictable.
Made-up conversation pales versus real conversation.
She started mocking the fact I walk my silly dog in the Polar Vortex — only short; I worry about frozen tootsies.
Then she began parrying my snide remarks. If I wonder why this is happening that’s Hilda.
I prefer the REAL ****** ****, et al. And that’s all I’m doing = mere friendship.
Only per Hilda does friendship with ladies become suspect. (And evil.)
Hilda’s legacy is hard to reverse — my lady-friends are flip-flopping it.
Hilda and my parents spin in their graves; 14,000 rpm. Enough to power FL south of Orlando.
• My wife of over 44&1/2 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. Best friend I ever had, and after my childhood I needed one. She actually liked me.
“I’ve thought that myself,” I said.
****** is a widow. Like me she lost her beloved, six years ago for her; almost seven for me.
“Yer problem is you think too much,” she added.
Agreed, but I’ve heard it before.
Sadly I think there’s a reason. Yrs Trly is a graduate of the Hilda Q. Walton School of Gender Relations. (No need to explain that to constant readers.)
Early in my childhood Hilda convinced me all men, including me, were scum. My Bible-beating parents heartily agreed. (No need to explain that either.)
“No woman will ever wanna talk to you!”
When that happens, as it has with increasing frequency, I wonder why.
“Are they lonely?” “Do they need companionship?”
WHOA, dude! What about friendship?
Since my wife died I discovered I enjoy conversation with women, and they seem to enjoy conversation with me. While married I avoided contact with other females, who I was scared of anyway. I already had a female who liked me.
Marked for life by Hilda, et al, I wondered why any lady would enjoy my company. Hilda led to many muck-ups. There also is my lack of female contact over 70 years. Anything that happens with females I over-analyze, which leads to wonky conclusions.
“Is she lonely?”
Get real dude! “It’s all in your head! Yer blowing ordinary behavior way outta proportion. Especially with ladies —that’s Hilda.”
The other day I experienced the REAL ****** ****, as opposed to “the ****** **** in my head,” who never gets mad at me, and is predictable.
Made-up conversation pales versus real conversation.
She started mocking the fact I walk my silly dog in the Polar Vortex — only short; I worry about frozen tootsies.
Then she began parrying my snide remarks. If I wonder why this is happening that’s Hilda.
I prefer the REAL ****** ****, et al. And that’s all I’m doing = mere friendship.
Only per Hilda does friendship with ladies become suspect. (And evil.)
Hilda’s legacy is hard to reverse — my lady-friends are flip-flopping it.
Hilda and my parents spin in their graves; 14,000 rpm. Enough to power FL south of Orlando.
• My wife of over 44&1/2 years died of cancer April 17th, 2012. Best friend I ever had, and after my childhood I needed one. She actually liked me.
posted by BobbaLew at 6:56 PM
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