“Keep smiling”

—Yr Fthfl Srvnt finds himself thinking about my encounter with that pretty lady walking her dog last week on the Ontario Pathways rail-trail near Canandaigua.
This is despite my being told 24 years ago at the Mighty Mezz that “thinkin’ is dangerous.”
I began to realize our encounter was sorta romantic; something I never experienced in my entire life. And perhaps she hadn’t either, or at least for some time.
We were attracted to each other. She kept smiling at me, and I kept talking to her — topics that would bore anyone else.
The worst thing a pretty lady can do is smile at me. Do that and I melt. Plus she wanted me to keep talking.
Killian broke the ice — as he always does.
“Oh what a beautiful dog. What’s his name?”
“Killian, as in ‘Killian Irish red’.” (By saying that I say the dog’s name twice.)
And so it began. Yada-yada-yada-yada-yada!
“He’s so tall,” she said.
“You’re not the first one that said that,” I observed.
She kept smiling at me; she was loving it.
“You have an accent,” she said. “Where are you from?”
“South Jersey originally,” I said; “dumping-ground for Philadelphia.
And South Jersey’s stellar landscape feature is the gravel-pit.
And its principal means of navigation is the cement tub.”
She told me she considered naming her dog “Lucy,” which prompted my telling about “Lucy the Margate Elephant.”
Do that with the average person and “ho-hum.”
Finally I told her “Do I dare say this? Please keep smiling at me; I really like it!”
I think she became embarrassed her loose fitting tee-shirt was exposing what would be cleavage, except she was flat-as-a-board.
She kept trying to rearrange things, then pull her hands away, so to appear she wasn’t trying to cover herself.
But bare skin wasn’t what attracted me. It was her smile, and I think she knew that.
Yada-yada-yada-yada! We talked and talked and talked and talked and talked. “Niagara Escarpment,” “South-Jersey Pine-Barrens;” she knew what they were, and so did I. We were striking sparks.
“And the finest beach in the entire known universe is 59th St. beach in Ocean City, NJ. But ya gotta wear shoes, lest the sand burn your feet.”
“This guy is interesting/he likes me.” And “she keeps smiling at me.” It was as if she was saying “tell me more!”
We talked and talked about 25 minutes. Fortunately no one else came along — we were blocking the path.
And our dogs were wondering what was going on.
“NO PRETTY LADY WILL SMILE AT YOU!” (The infamous Hilda Q. Walton — no need to explain.)
She’s not my first smiler, but WOW!
We met again later, and I think by then she was embarrassed we enjoyed each other’s company so much. Not fair to her husband.
I made her feel good — like mere jabbering about who-knows-what made her smile.
It keeps happening.“NO PRETTY LADY WILL SMILE AT YOU!” Yet many do.
It happened again the very next day, even more extreme. A pretty blond jogger in her 40s.
Her smile lit up the entire area — and we were outside.
I’m not used to this. Per Hilda I’m scum.

• The “Mighty Mezz” is the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired over 14 years ago. BEST job I ever had. I was employed there almost 10 years — over 11 if you count my time as a post-stroke unpaid intern. (I had a heart-defect caused stroke October 26th, 1993, from which I recovered fairly well. That defect was repaired.)