Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk!

—“It’s these masks,” I said to my receptionist in Canandaigua EyeCare’s Optical-Department.
“They force us to look at eyes,” I told her.
“Yes, we’re used to looking for a smile,” she said. “With masks we can’t.”
“Eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes,” I said. “Everywhere eyes, and many are gorgeous. It’s like eye-contact makes eyes gorgeous.
I was at Canandaigua EyeCare Center because I dropped my glasses in the driveway of a friend, so she and/or I could unknowingly drive over and destroy them.
That friend lives in Canandaigua, so I picked up my damaged glasses from her, then went to EyeCare on my way home.
Eye-contact I’m not used to. When it happens I am smitten. Pretty blue eyes, pretty brown eyes, and eyes that sparkle or twinkle.
“You can hide behind that mask, but you’re smiling at me. Your eyes give you away.”
“Your eyes are pretty,” I said to another receptionist. She was looking at me with her pretty blue eyes. Eye-contact makes eyes pretty.
Finally I was guided to a sales table.
Only one sales person, and she’s not attractive. But she’s talkative. I guess ya gotta be to succeed in sales.
I’m not used to talking either, but 70 years late I discover it sure is fun. Especially with ladies. Strike up a conversation with an unknown lady, and off we go.
Try that with men, and they get defensive. They might even hurl the macho-bit atcha. There are a few men I can talk to, but I know ‘em.
The other day I told a joke to my female therapist and her male boss. The therapist laughed crazily, but her boss got defensive: like the fact I made that girl laugh made me a threat.
So me and that sales-girl started shooting the breeze.
“My wife, who died eight years ago, was raised to be a frump. Her mother was a real pill.
‘You get rid of them glasses, and let your hair grow, and you’re gonna look a lot prettier’!”
“So what did your wife say to that?” the sales-girl asked.
“Her mother’s reaction is what I noticed. I was leading her daughter into sin and degradation (GASP)!”
We laughed and laughed and laughed some more.
“I got another story if you wanna hear it,” I said.
“Hit me!” the sales-girl said.
“The first time her mother met me, she growled at me. I can still visualize it,” I said. “She’s sitting on their living-room sofa growling at me, actually growling.
‘Look what the cat dragged in! What in the world does she ever see in him? I had the perfect husband picked out for her, but she had to go out on her own! GUILTY, I tell ya’!”
“Well we women can do that = pick who we marry,” the sales-girl said.
Talk, talk, talk, talkity, talk ; and laugh-laffity-laugh!
“We could talk forever, and it sure would be fun. But I hafta get new glasses,” I said.
And I couldn’t order repeats of my damaged glasses. They no longer were made. I had to choose new frames.
She also told me about how well she gets along with her husband’s parents.
The first time she met them they were playing high-speed euchre. Her father-in-law, a champion, wondered if she wanted to join them.
“Only if ya don’t yell at me,” she answered.
“Notice I’m letting you talk,” I said. “I’m not butting in. Yer likely to say something I wanna hear. Talking is fun. For marriage to succeed the couple has to enjoy talking to each other, no put-downs, bad-mouthing, etc.”
“Their marriage won’t last three months!” her mother shrieked.
“44&1/2 years,” I noted; “and probably woulda made 50 if cancer hadn’t intervened.”
That sales-lady and I talked quite a bit more. She wasn’t attractive, but talking is fun.
Attractiveness counters my hyper-religious parents and neighbor Sunday-School superintendent, also hyper-religious: “no pretty lady will ever talk to/smile at/laugh with/associate with/be interested in you!”
So the other day, at my supermarket, the following didn’t occur, but probably shoulda:
“Can you please do me a favor?” I’d ask the checkout girl.
“Just look at me with your eyes.
WOW!” I’d say.
“It’s these masks, and your eyes are gorgeous!
Look what we been missing!” I’d exclaim.
I shoulda done it; her eyes were gorgeous.

• The joke: “Two TV antennas met on a rooftop, fell in love, and got married. The ceremony was so-so, but the reception was fabulous.”
• One time in college the guy who my wife’s mother wanted dated my wife-to-be, and scared her to death demonstrating the 100 mph potential of his ’57 Chevy.