“That’s Killian’s dad!”

—Two or three weeks ago I was headed to my boarding kennel to drop off my dog (“Killian”) so I could go to the grocery store.
The kennel’s two co-owners, one cute but both great fun to talk to, were headed out for a coffee.
They were driving out as I came down the highway.
All-of-a-sudden: SCREECH! Then reverse.
I imagine the conversation: “STOP! That’s Killian’s dad. Lemme out!”
As I pulled in the cute one, not driving, jumped out of the car.
I'm not used to this. A pretty girl wants to talk to me? (Drop everything!)
Yrs Trly is a graduate of the Hilda Q. Walton School of Gender Relations. She convinced me all men, including me at age 5, were SCUM. Her husband was probably fooling around.
Had my hyper-religious parents not agreed, Hilda, my neighbor Sunday-school superintendent, woulda crashed in flames. Hilda was also hyper-religious.
A lot has changed since my wife died, and Killian is part of it: “oh what a pretty dog,” followed by “here I am talking to a pretty girl.”
I could imagine the cute one wants to not lose my business. But I think there’s more to it than that. I also make her laugh = feel good.
A lady-friend once told me “get the endorphins flowing,” i.e. make ‘em laugh.
Last August a really pretty girl told me what women love most is laughing.
“Drop everything! Lemme out!”