“I just can’t get enough of you!”

That was *****, a lifeguard at the Canandaigua YMCA swimming-pool, where I do aquatic balance-training.
“Oh brother!” I exclaimed; followed by “no comment.”
It was yesterday (Saturday) afternoon, when I do aquatic balance-training on-my-own.
Later another lady lifeguard came over to talk to *****.
“You came here just to see *****, didn’t you,” that lady said to me.
“I did not!” I shouted. “In fact, I’m amazed she’s here. I been doin’ these on-my-own Saturdays for months, and this is only the second time I’ve seen her.”
“I just told Bob I couldn’t get enough of him,” ***** told the other lifeguard.
“Don’t listen to her!” I yelled.
A few minutes later ***** prepared to leave. Another lifeguard came to relieve her.
“I come here every Saturday,” I said; “if you’re desperate.”
“Next Saturday I’m scheduled for 11 a.m. to 1 p.m.,” ***** noted.
“1 p.m. is about when I get here,” I said. “I’ll hafta get here early so we can say hello.”
I could go into the Hilda Walton bit, like HOW IN THE WORLD DID I BECOME FRIENDS WITH *****.
For age-63, ***** is a “looker;” statuesque and striking. Up-close-and-personal I see the crows-feet and wrinkles, but on her lifeguard stand she’s in her 40s.
“***** is 63?” someone remarked. “She looks 40-ish.”
“‘No pretty girl will talk to you,’” I tell *****; “yet here you are talking to me.” (“No pretty girl will talk to you” is Hilda Q. Walton, my neighbor Sunday-School Superintendent, who convinced me all men, including me at age-5, were scum.)
I think it’s because I get ***** laughing. Years ago my wife told me the reason we lasted 44&1/2 years was because I made her laugh.
My wife died over seven years ago, and now I’m making *****, among others, laugh. I ain’t tryin’; I just do.