Spin on Hilda-baby!
—“Boy I sure am glad you didn’t quit!”
I said that to the pretty new hire at my doggy-daycare kennel who’s only 19 years old.
She smiled.
There you have it, readers. I did it again. Said something that made a pretty girl smile, setting Hilda and my parents spinning in their graves.
“NO PRETTY GIRL WILL SMILE AT YOU!” That’s Hilda Q. Walton, who I need not explain. (Click the link if you need explanation.)
Hilda and my parents were hyper-religious zealots who convinced me I was disgusting.
That girl and I talked a long time about my dog, recently crippled by a torn ACL.
“I don’t wanna lose that dog,” I kept telling her.
“I don’t want you to lose that dog either,” she’d say.
“Neatest Irish-Setter I ever owned; completely wacko.
“And also a ham,” she added.
Finally, after 20 minutes or so, I stopped. We couldn’t talk forever. And unlike what I expected, it was me stopping us, not her.
“What does that cutie-pie see in him?” people ask.
“Let ‘er talk,” I answer. “Tell me about it.” “Keep going.”
I walked around to get in my car, and she opened the door into the kennel.
As she entered, “Boy am I glad you didn’t quit!”
We talked earlier about my not seeing her a while, which had me worried.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said.
“But you won’t work here forever. Your whole life is ahead of you, and mine is almost done. About all I can do is make sure you think you’re worth listening to.”
(And not be a creep about it.)
And it’s so much fun. Make ‘em feel good. “I like you; tell me more!”
Enter Hilda, stage right: “Go to Hell Bobby. Do not collect $200 dollars; go directly to Hell!”
I said that to the pretty new hire at my doggy-daycare kennel who’s only 19 years old.
She smiled.
There you have it, readers. I did it again. Said something that made a pretty girl smile, setting Hilda and my parents spinning in their graves.
“NO PRETTY GIRL WILL SMILE AT YOU!” That’s Hilda Q. Walton, who I need not explain. (Click the link if you need explanation.)
Hilda and my parents were hyper-religious zealots who convinced me I was disgusting.
That girl and I talked a long time about my dog, recently crippled by a torn ACL.
“I don’t wanna lose that dog,” I kept telling her.
“I don’t want you to lose that dog either,” she’d say.
“Neatest Irish-Setter I ever owned; completely wacko.
“And also a ham,” she added.
Finally, after 20 minutes or so, I stopped. We couldn’t talk forever. And unlike what I expected, it was me stopping us, not her.
“What does that cutie-pie see in him?” people ask.
“Let ‘er talk,” I answer. “Tell me about it.” “Keep going.”
I walked around to get in my car, and she opened the door into the kennel.
As she entered, “Boy am I glad you didn’t quit!”
We talked earlier about my not seeing her a while, which had me worried.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said.
“But you won’t work here forever. Your whole life is ahead of you, and mine is almost done. About all I can do is make sure you think you’re worth listening to.”
(And not be a creep about it.)
And it’s so much fun. Make ‘em feel good. “I like you; tell me more!”
Enter Hilda, stage right: “Go to Hell Bobby. Do not collect $200 dollars; go directly to Hell!”
Labels: Hilda Q. Walton School of Gender Relations, Relations with the opposite sex
posted by BobbaLew at 3:38 PM
1 Comments:
Geez Bob, did you say all that outloud in front of this young girl? I hope you were taught better manners than that, aside from all the negativity you had to listen to constantly(according to your blog). AND you are still listening to it! Move on -- give it up. Did you tell your wife about all this stuff that went on in your life when you were growing up?? Maybe she told you it was boring to hear over and over, then again maybe not. You and your dog sure get around.
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