Smile-fix

—It’s Thursday, May 28th, 2020 — yesterday. Should I take Killian to Ontario Pathways in Canandaigua?
That hike is over three miles, a bit much for someone 76 years old with faltering balance.
Will I meet my smiling lady-friend again? That was last Thursday.
I doubt it! I’ll probably never meet that lady again.
I had it happen before. —My first “flirt,” if you wanna call it that.
“I see gray hairs,” I said to a lady in Boughton Park. We were walking our dogs. I saw her a week earlier, but this time we stopped to talk.
“I see gray hairs” meant I looked at her hair and found it attractive. She liked that. Call that a “flirt” if you want — my first.
I made it a point to show up at Boughton the same day the following week, hoping we’d meet again.
Didn’t happen. I haven’t seen that lady since, and that was years ago. I’ll probably never see my smiler-friend again either.
So it goes. Billions of people are on this planet. That smiler is only one.
Even if we met again, I doubt our encounter would be as pleasant. Last week was the joy of discovery; we found each other. I kept talking to her, and she kept smiling at me.
This was entirely contrary to my upbringing. A lot has changed since my beloved wife died — constant-readers won’t need explanation.
I think that lady became embarrassed our encounter was so pleasant. She said she’d limit to only waving next time.
But would I entertain her again? Probably. I’m just like my uncle, who sold cars for a South Jersey Ford dealer. He was extremely successful. People wanted to buy a car from him because he made them laugh.
Last August a really pretty girl told me what women love most is laughing. “Get the endorphins flowing,” another lady-friend tells me  — i.e. make ‘em laugh.
I’m just like that uncle (also a Robert), except I’m making ladies laugh. (Men too, if I can; but usually I get suspicion followed by posturing.)
And of course getting ladies to laugh is fun. It counters my childhood: “NO PRETTY LADY WILL LAUGH WITH YOU!” (The infamous Hilda Q. Walton — again, explanation not needed.)
So off we went, me and my silly dog. He barked the whole way there.
It was cloudy, so I fired up my weather-radar. The scan was clear, but my rail-cam down in Cresson (PA) had it raining. So I better get going before that rain gets up here.

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So did I meet that smile-lady again?
Of course not! I’ll probably never meet that lady again in my entire life.
It did rain on my dog and I about a third of our way back.
Needing a pleasantry I decided to stop at my kennel. No one was there whose car I recognize, except **** who used her parent’s car.
“Just visiting,” I said, as she came outside.
She smiled and smiled and smiled again, and performed a silly dance for me.
She's only 19 (“I’m old enough to be your grandfather”), the cute new hire at that kennel.
That’s all I need. Some cutie-pie smile at me and I’m done.
Per Hilda that wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Please tell ***** and ******* (the co-owners) a friend is threatening to take that dog house I offered.”
“You tell your friend a 5-foot 2-inch, 125-pound, 19-year-old girl is gonna kick his butt!
“I’m glad I stopped,” I said.
And the doghouse is gone. She and her boyfriend came and got it.
A while ago I told her to make sure she marry somebody who could make her laugh. WE-SHALL-SEE! (I hope she does.)
(My wife, who died eight years ago, always told me the reason we lasted 44&1/2 years is because I made her laugh.)

• “Robert Hughes” (me) and “Uncle Rob.”
• “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. (Her husband was probably fooling around.) My hyper-religious parents heartily agreed.