Another Hilda Q. Walton blog

—“Where’s my baby?”
So asked Cutie-Pie, the cutest employee at my pet supply.
“So it is you,” I said.
I didn't have Killian with me. (“Killian” is my dog.)
The so-called ‘Merchandise Operations Leader’,” I added. I had to side-glance her picture on the wall. I guess she’s important.
I thought it might be Cutie-Pie, but wasn’t sure. She was wearing a mask, and had her hair in a ponytail I’ve never seen before.
Cutie-Pie is the one with sparkling eyes and a winsome smile.
“I have to go get him,” I said. “He’s being doggy-daycared so I could go to Weggers.”
Things are much different since my wife died. 10 years ago I woulda avoided Cutie-Pie. She's so cute I woulda been intimidated.
“NO CUTIE-PIE WILL TALK TO YOU!” That’s the infamous Hilda Q. Walton, my hyper-religious neighbor Sunday-school superintendent, who convinced me all males, including me at age 5, were SCUM.
She woulda crashed if my hyper-religious parents disagreed. But I was rebellious and disgusting because I couldn’t worship my holier-than-thou father.
Yada-yada-yada-yada, we talked and talked and talked and talked.
I can't believe it! She’s extraordinarily cute, and COVID-19 is turning me into the Abominable Snowman. I’m also 76 years old, harmless I guess, although I could be perceived a lonely hot-to-trot widower.
Check out finished, I started to leave. I would closely pass Cutie-Pie on my way out. Social distancing be damned; I decided to touch her. Let her know I was happy to see her.
Zap! Just one finger on her pretty arm.
It didn’t spook her. I think she liked it.
(I did similar with a really pretty girl last August. Things sure have changed.)
“Give your boy a hug for me,” she said, eyes flashing, and smiling behind her mask.
Next time I visit I’ll bring Killian. Let Cutie-Pie go bonkers!

• “Weggers” is Wegmans, a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester where I often buy groceries. They have a store in Canandaigua. My pet-supply is across the street.
• My wife died of cancer eight years ago.