Girls night out

—“All right,” I said to the girl doing my blood draw at Thompson Hospital this morning. “You have pretty eyes.”
“Why thank you!” she said; proving yet again I can tell that to a girl without getting smacked.
Sorry I had to mention that readers, but after last night I had to tell a lady she had pretty eyes.
Last night was our weekly bereavers eat-out: me and three others who lost their spouses, me being the token male.
“He can park his boots at the foot of my bed anytime!” one widow exclaimed after Googling some hunk movie-star on her SmartPhone.
“But can he talk?” I asked.
“DOESN’T MATTER!” she shouted.
So I later Google-imaged this hunk movie star hoping he might be a charmer who might be able to talk as well as render a good time in the sack.
Maybe. I didn’t see the charmer I often see in others.
“No lady will ever talk to you!” I was told at age-5.
Now, 70 years later, I find that was bunk.
Ever since my wife died, I been making lady friends galore, and all I’m doing is talking to them, which they seem to love.
Give ‘em an ear, and they won’t stop.
All this is new to this kid, in light of “no lady will ever talk to you!”
But apparently more is needed than just talk — ya gotta be a glowering hunk to attract ladies.
“But what’s he gonna be like at dinner?” I asked.
I’ve made too many lady friends just talking. We talk and talk and talk and talk = a simple exchange of pleasant banter.
And often they smile at me — there’s that bicyclist smiling at me along Lehigh Valley RailTrail: we talked and talked and talked and talked 20-25 minutes.
I’m sorry it was so much fun, and we had to stop. What a drag!