“Delaware”
The other morning, after walking my silly dog at a nearby park, I went to a supermarket in Honeoye Falls to buy a few things.
After parking my car, and opening the windows to keep my dog from overheating, I got out and walked toward the supermarket.
A lady approached. She was fairly cute — probably in her late forties. She was wearing a gray teeshirt with the word “Delaware” printed on it.
“Delaware?” I asked.
“Yeah Delaware,” she said.
“I’m from Delaware,” I said; “north of Wilmington actually.”
“My daughter attends University of Delaware in Newark,” she said. “She loves it.”
“Newark is about 15-20 miles south of where I’m from,” I added.
“So what are you doing here?” the lady asked.
“Long and sorry story,” I shouted. “You don’t wanna hear it.”
What’s notable here is I spoke to this lady at all. I’m a graduate of the Hilda Q. Walton School of Gender Relations.
“No female will talk to you!”
I could explain Faire Hilda, but I’m sure constant-readers already know all about her. (If not, click the link, readers.)
I’ll just say that with my hyper-religious parents she convinced me all men, including me at age-5, were scum. Her husband was probably fooling around.
If I learned anything at all since my wife died, it’s that Hilda and my parents were WRONG!
They marked me for life, and my wife, having liked me from the get-go, made it possible for me to continue fearing women.
So now, 50 years late, I find women seem to enjoy talking to me. I make ‘em laugh, and that seems what they want more than anything.
Ten years ago I woulda observed that lady’s teeshirt, then never said anything.
“No pretty girl will talk to you!”
I struck up a conversation, leaving Hilda horrified.
14,000 rpm in her casket; enough to power FL south of Orlando.
• “Honeoye (‘HONE-eee-oy;’ rhymes with ‘boy’) Falls” is the nearest village to the west to where I live in western New York, a rural village about five miles away.
• A recent crotch-rocket motorcycle might be capable of 14,000 rpm. A Detroit V8 will start tearing itself apart at 8,000 (if it gets there).
After parking my car, and opening the windows to keep my dog from overheating, I got out and walked toward the supermarket.
A lady approached. She was fairly cute — probably in her late forties. She was wearing a gray teeshirt with the word “Delaware” printed on it.
“Delaware?” I asked.
“Yeah Delaware,” she said.
“I’m from Delaware,” I said; “north of Wilmington actually.”
“My daughter attends University of Delaware in Newark,” she said. “She loves it.”
“Newark is about 15-20 miles south of where I’m from,” I added.
“So what are you doing here?” the lady asked.
“Long and sorry story,” I shouted. “You don’t wanna hear it.”
What’s notable here is I spoke to this lady at all. I’m a graduate of the Hilda Q. Walton School of Gender Relations.
“No female will talk to you!”
I could explain Faire Hilda, but I’m sure constant-readers already know all about her. (If not, click the link, readers.)
I’ll just say that with my hyper-religious parents she convinced me all men, including me at age-5, were scum. Her husband was probably fooling around.
If I learned anything at all since my wife died, it’s that Hilda and my parents were WRONG!
They marked me for life, and my wife, having liked me from the get-go, made it possible for me to continue fearing women.
So now, 50 years late, I find women seem to enjoy talking to me. I make ‘em laugh, and that seems what they want more than anything.
Ten years ago I woulda observed that lady’s teeshirt, then never said anything.
“No pretty girl will talk to you!”
I struck up a conversation, leaving Hilda horrified.
14,000 rpm in her casket; enough to power FL south of Orlando.
• “Honeoye (‘HONE-eee-oy;’ rhymes with ‘boy’) Falls” is the nearest village to the west to where I live in western New York, a rural village about five miles away.
• A recent crotch-rocket motorcycle might be capable of 14,000 rpm. A Detroit V8 will start tearing itself apart at 8,000 (if it gets there).
Labels: Relations with the opposite sex
posted by BobbaLew at 7:43 PM
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