Never-ending blog-material
—“Guess I better not tell that girl she has pretty eyes,” I said to a friend. “That could become blog-material.”
Last night I and that friend, plus two others, all of us bereaved, ate out at a restaurant in Canandaigua. We do it every week, and have been for years.
The girl tending bar was cute; she had gorgeous eyes.
I texted all that to another friend afterward, a fellow retired bus-driver like me.
I have so much success telling girls they have pretty eyes, he warned me I might get bit.
More importantly I know what happens. When I strike sparks with a pretty girl, which always seems to occur, I end up blogging it. Lawn goes unmowed, mail remains unopened; writing is more fun.
And of course “NO PRETTY GIRL WILL ASSOCIATE WITH YOU!” is my torrid childhood. So I am blown away when I strike sparks with a pretty girl.
If she smiles at me or flashes her pretty eyes, I am done! “You can hide behind that mask, but you’re smiling. Your eyes give you away!”
I’ve had so much success at it, I find myself amazed. It flip-flops my entire childhood, wherein I was convinced I was rebellious and disgusting.
For over 70 years I was terrified of pretty girls, scared to even say anything to them.
And now I find myself experiencing amazing success striking sparks with pretty girls.
I was convinced at age-5 that anything like this would never happen.
And if I may say so, I think the fact I’m not checking out their physical attributes, e.g. their rack, is extremely appealing.
No, what got my attention was their eyes. “You’re someone I could talk to = I see it in your eyes. Talk to me! Keep going! Tell me anything!”
Or as I said to pretty-eyes at my computer store the other day “tell me more!”
I think that’s what women want more than anything: talk-talk-talk-talk-talk.
Forget “cozy.” Talking comes first. And so often are the Trump wannabes hittin’ on the pretty girls no wonder I always strike sparks.
So now I’d go to Lehigh Valley RailTrail to hike it, and say hello to my dog’s ashes.
Except there’s always a chance I’ll encounter some pretty girl, and we’ll strike sparks. It’s happened so many times I’m a little afraid of hiking that rail-trail, because I end up getting blog-material.
Lawn goes unmowed, mail remains unopened, etc.
It’s also raining.
Last night I and that friend, plus two others, all of us bereaved, ate out at a restaurant in Canandaigua. We do it every week, and have been for years.
The girl tending bar was cute; she had gorgeous eyes.
I texted all that to another friend afterward, a fellow retired bus-driver like me.
I have so much success telling girls they have pretty eyes, he warned me I might get bit.
More importantly I know what happens. When I strike sparks with a pretty girl, which always seems to occur, I end up blogging it. Lawn goes unmowed, mail remains unopened; writing is more fun.
And of course “NO PRETTY GIRL WILL ASSOCIATE WITH YOU!” is my torrid childhood. So I am blown away when I strike sparks with a pretty girl.
If she smiles at me or flashes her pretty eyes, I am done! “You can hide behind that mask, but you’re smiling. Your eyes give you away!”
I’ve had so much success at it, I find myself amazed. It flip-flops my entire childhood, wherein I was convinced I was rebellious and disgusting.
For over 70 years I was terrified of pretty girls, scared to even say anything to them.
And now I find myself experiencing amazing success striking sparks with pretty girls.
I was convinced at age-5 that anything like this would never happen.
And if I may say so, I think the fact I’m not checking out their physical attributes, e.g. their rack, is extremely appealing.
No, what got my attention was their eyes. “You’re someone I could talk to = I see it in your eyes. Talk to me! Keep going! Tell me anything!”
Or as I said to pretty-eyes at my computer store the other day “tell me more!”
I think that’s what women want more than anything: talk-talk-talk-talk-talk.
Forget “cozy.” Talking comes first. And so often are the Trump wannabes hittin’ on the pretty girls no wonder I always strike sparks.
So now I’d go to Lehigh Valley RailTrail to hike it, and say hello to my dog’s ashes.
Except there’s always a chance I’ll encounter some pretty girl, and we’ll strike sparks. It’s happened so many times I’m a little afraid of hiking that rail-trail, because I end up getting blog-material.
Lawn goes unmowed, mail remains unopened, etc.
It’s also raining.
Labels: Relations with the opposite sex
posted by BobbaLew at 10:50 AM
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