Three little flirts

—1) “You may hafta get their attention,” I said to an attractive girl standing in front of me at my pharmacy.
I stepped in front of her to ring the bell on their counter.
“I’m not in line,” she said; “just waiting for them to fill my prescription.”
Pretty ***** appeared from behind shelving. “Nothing for you,” she said, seeing it was me.
Long discussion followed about how I was now outta my prescription pills.
She filled my prescription, knowing my doctor would authorize it.
Meanwhile, “pretty girl” waited quietly behind me. I said goodbye to ***** as I began leaving.
But I forgot “pretty girl,” and walked out without saying goodbye.
I shoulda.
It woulda made both of us feel good.
“Yes, you are attractive; so I hereby say goodbye.”

—2) “Can I say hello to your dog?”
I said that to a pretty lady at the gas-pump behind mine, and on the other side.
She’d let her dog out of her car to pour water into his dish. The dog was gorgeous, but a Labrador-Retriever, not an Irish-Setter.
“I just lost my dog,” I said, as I slowly started walking toward them.
“I miss him terribly. I need to talk to a dog,” I said.
The dog started toward me as I offered the back of my hand.
The dog had been swimming at Kershaw Park at the north end of Canandaigua lake.
“I gave up Kershaw, and my dog loved Kershaw,” I told her. “Too many people, and they all wanna greet my dog. There is a pandemic.”
Yada-yada-yada-yada. Not smashingly attractive, but she smiled at me.

—3) “Gotta say hello to ****** before they leave,” I said to myself.
A week ago a landscape-service came to my house to do yardwork. It’s owned and operated by the children of my YMCA aquacise-instructor. They also have a crew.
Work finished, “I haven't met ****** yet,” a girl. Perhaps she’s just their accountant, but I bet she also smashes trees.
****** was inside the truck. I said hello, and she turned and smiled.

—What matters here is ten years ago none of this woulda happened. I woulda avoided all three, including ******.
Back then I was still convinced “NO FEMALE WILL EVER TALK TO YOU;” male either.
What a wonderful thing to tell a five-year-old little boy, that I am disgusting.
At this point my friends tell me to GET OVER IT!
“Marked for life,” I retort. “And now, 70 years late, I find my badmouthers were all WRONG.
Finding this out is exhilarating, and I celebrate it too much.

• “Pretty *****” is head-pharmacist at my pharmacy. I go there because we became friends — much to my amazement.
• I just lost my current dog, “Killian,” a “rescue Irish-Setter.” He made eleven, and was my seventh Irish-Setter, an extremely lively dog. A “rescue Irish-Setter” is usually an Irish-Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. Or perhaps its owner died. (Killian was a divorce victim.) By getting a rescue-dog I avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —Killian was fine. He was my fifth rescue.
• For years I did aquatic balance-training in the Canandaigua YMCA’s swimming-pool, two one-hour classes per week — plus a third hour on my own. The one-hour classes were led by my “aquacise-instructor.” —Thanks to COVID-19, that aquatic balance-training has been discontinued, not forever I hope. I have lady-friends there, also much to my amazement.