Eye-Contact

—I walk out of the inner sanctum of my doctor’s office into the lobby, and suddenly I’m face-to-face with a pretty girl with gorgeous eyes.
Only a nano-second of actual eye-contact, enough time for her to spring up and walk out before some lecherous geezer gets cute with her.
That nano-second is nowhere near enough time to deliver my preliminary babble to avoid being perceived a lecherous geezer.
“It’s these masks,” I’d say. “They force us to notice eyes. Eyes, eyes, and eyes everywhere, and many are gorgeous. Your eyes are gorgeous! It’s like look what we been missing!”
None of that happened. She split before I could say anything.
There was another girl who works there, and last visit I told her she had pretty eyes. “There are those eyes again,” I said to her. “I recognize your eyes!”
The visit to my doctor was to deal with extravagant swelling of my left thumb. Cellulitis it’s called. Why it infected I have no idea, but it kept me awake all night. No sleep at all.
The swelling was lanced, and a river of puss flowed. My doctor prescribed an antibiotic to my pharmacy where I hoped I’d meet pretty *****.
I did. “Boy am I glad you’re here. When you’re not I worry,” I said.
Our eyes met, flagrant eye-contact, and I noticed she has gorgeous eyes.
She seemed more outgoing, like no longer was I perceived a lonely hot-to-trot widower. —We could talk.
Previously I guess our eye-contact was minimal, like maybe she had been looking askance.
This time she was looking right at me, and her eyes were pretty blue and sparkling.
Which got me thinking on my way home. Why were her eyes so gorgeous this time?
It’s the eye-contact I surmise. “No girl will ever look directly at you!”
I didn’t say anything to *****, but WOW!
She wasn’t as defensive as previous, and she was hittin’ me with her gorgeous eyes.