Her eyes were smiling

—With this CoronaVirus thingy, all my contacts began special measures.
The Canandaigua YMCA is closed, as are the restaurants my fellow bereavers patronize once per week.
About a week ago I patronized my local Petco to get treats for my silly dog. The dog wasn’t with me. I was greeted by the store-manager, a girl who knows me as “Killian’s dad.”
(They allow leashed dogs into the store.)
She was wearing surgical gloves, and would get my dog-treats for me.
Later I visited a local supermarket. “Electronic payments only; no cash,” a sign said.
“I saw your sign,” I said to the checkout clerk. “And I brought my bag.” NY state began disallowing plastic bags, requiring purchase of paper bags, or “bring-your-own bag.”
“You’ll hafta bag your groceries,” the lady said. “I’m not allowed.”
This ancient laptop rendered the black-screen-of-death. I called my computer-guru at Mac-Shack.
“Bring it in,” he said.  “But our lobby is locked. You’ll hafta telephone us from yer car, then I’ll come out and get your computer.”
When he came out, he too was wearing surgical gloves.
Mac-Shack called days later to tell me my computer was fixed. “$99 labor, but we only do telephone payments.”
Yesterday I wanted to shop Weggers. To do so I’d daycare my dog at a local kennel.
“Valet service only,” a sign said. “Knock or call us; we’ll come out and get your pet.”
Both co-owners were going for coffee, but saw me coming. “We can’t go yet — that’s Killian’s dad.”
The cute co-owner greeted me, although both are an absolute joy to talk to.
“Are you gonna valet my car?” I asked.
She laughed, then took my dog inside. She then came back outside to talk — I get her laughing.
She told me about some sales-rep wanting to shake her hand.
“And you can see I’m keeping my six-foot distance,” I said.
“Yeah, what fun is that?” she said.
A lot has changed since my beloved wife died.
“NO PRETTY LADY WILL TALK TO YOU!” Yet here I am talking to a pretty lady.
Then there was my late-afternoon veterinarian appointment.
“Call from your car, and we’ll come and get your pet,” a sign said.
A cute young Italian girl brought out a dog for someone else. She was in full medical regalia: mask, scrubs, surgical gown, and surgical gloves.
I phoned from the parking-lot. I could see the receptionist inside answering my phonecall.
But suddenly pretty Italian girl was asking “what can I do for you?”
Taste and decorum here; I’m not some Trump wannabee.
All I could see were her eyes, and they were smiling. I bet she was smiling under that mask.
I’m sorry, but I eat that up. “NO PRETTY LADY WILL SMILE AT YOU,” yet her eyes were smiling.
Diamond-eyes, but mainly smiling.
(We used to call my brother Jack “old diamond-eyes.”)
A lot has changed since my wife died. I got so I can eye-to-eye with pretty ladies. 10 years ago I couldna.
And ladies love it. Eye-to-eye contact, and off-we-go.
How pleasant! I love it myself, finding out 70 years late.
Italian girl was a little overweight, but her eyes were smiling.
No mask could hide that.

• I did aquatic balance training in the Canandaigua YMCA’s swimming-pool, two one-hour classes per week — plus a third hour on my own.
• The “bereavers” are people who like me lost our marriage-partners. We been eating out at local restaurants once per week for years.
• My current dog, “Killian,” is a “rescue Irish-setter.” He’s eleven, and is my seventh Irish-Setter, an extremely lively dog. A “rescue Irish setter” is usually an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. Or perhaps its owner died. (Killian was a divorce victim.) By getting a rescue-dog I avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Killian was fine. He’s my fifth rescue.
• “Weggers” is Wegmans, a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester where I often buy groceries. They have a store in Canandaigua.)
• “No pretty lady, etc. etc.” was my neighbor Sunday-School Superintendent Hilda Q. Walton, who convinced me all males, including me at age-5, were SCUM. My hyper-religious parents heartily agreed. (And by now it’s probably over 20 blogs.)