Yet again the eyes

—“Gotta stop checking out ladies’ eyes,” I thought to myself as I trudged quietly through my supermarket.
Saturday morning = go to supermarket = buy groceries.
Plus check out female eyes, much like Trump and his macho minions checking out the other stuff. But instead of “looka that one,” or “I’d like to get physical with her,” with me it’s “she looks like someone I could talk to” or “she’s smiling at me; I can tell!”
Per COVID-19, we were all wearing masks, and another lady-friend once told me “the eyes are the window to the soul.”
I kept to myself, but maybe I shouldna. I’ve told quite a few ladies they have pretty eyes, and I’ve yet to get smacked. I guess at age 76 I’m safe, but I always get a positive response. The lady smiles, blushes, and/or thanks me profusely.
I worry keeping to myself is my childhood resurfacing. “NO PRETTY LADY WILL SMILE AT YOU,” yet so many do.
I kept to myself, but some lady almost ran into me. Her eyes twinkled as she screeched to a halt.
If I’d said anything, I woulda said “yer eyes are twinkling,” and I bet I wouldna got “buzz off, creep!”
Returning home I decided to check out the kennel where I daycared Killian.
I hadn’t visited in a while = didn’t wanna wear out my welcome.
My college-age friend might be there, manning the store alone by herself.
“Do I dare come in?” I’d ask. “I don’t have a dog.”
“Sure!” she’d probably say, the equivalent of “happy to see ya!”
We’d talk and laugh, and laugh some more. I also would make her smile. Sorry zealots, but I love it!
“FLIRTING!” my parents and Sunday-School superintendent neighbor call it.
Evil and disgusting! Which means I’m evil and disgusting myself.
Just enjoying each other’s company isn’t “how ‘bout it honey!”
We’da been striking sparks, which makes me feel good too.
Maybe I shouldna been so reclusive at the supermarket.
Do it! Strike up a conversation! Make ‘em smile!
I’d probably smile myself, a triumph over my sordid childhood.

• “Killian,” a “rescue Irish-Setter,” was my most recent dog. He made age-11, and was my seventh Irish-Setter, an extremely lively dog. He was my fifth rescue. (Yet another dog lost to canine cancer.)