“DO IT!” “DO IT!” “DO IT!”

—“DO IT!” said the little voice in the back of my head.
“Bang on the window! Let ‘em know you thought they’re worth waving at.”
That’s the same voice my hyper-religious parents and Sunday-School superintendent neighbor claimed was the Devil Incarnate.
“They’ll love it,” the little voice said.
Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!
Gigantic waving; it looked like they were thrilled.
Do the math, dudes: I solicit their attention, and they love it.
These are the two pretty ladies inside the lobby next to Thompson Hospital’s Physical-Therapy department.
They pre-check clients per COVID-19.
One girl is extremely pretty. The other girl has prettier eyes. But both seem to love talking with me.
And they both smile at me = guilty-as-charged.
“No pretty girl will smile at you!” bellowed that Sunday-School superintendent long ago. So when two pretty ladies smile at me, I am smitten.
“That’s FLIRTING,” the Bible-beaters exclaim. Any contact between the sexes, even verbal, is EVIL and disgusting.
“But it sure is fun!” I’d say.
Those ladies laughed and smiled at me, waving frantically. “If it’s fun it’s sin!”
Heard it a million times, but it’s fun striking sparks with a female!
And those ladies seemed to like it too. Girls love shooting the breeze with a male not hot-to-trot. (“He likes me; and he’s not hitting on me!”)
Those two, among so many others, counteract my sordid childhood.
“Hey, where ya goin’?” I asked pretty-girl as she left the desk where she usually takes my temperature.
“You can’t leave,” I said. “Who do I talk to?”
“Don’t worry,” she smiled. “I’ll be back.”
At this point I could presume she wanted to talk to me. She didn’t refer me to her sidekick.
Enter my childhood: “No pretty girl will wanna talk to you!”
“DREAMIN’,” my critics would say. “She’s only being sociable.”
At which point the little voice advises that thinking she wants to avoid me would make her avoid me.
If I think she wants to talk to me (think positively), she’ll wanna.
—And now the girl in my supermarket who looked like someone I knew.
“I saw you earlier, and almost said something, but you were too far away.
And now we meet again. You looked like someone I knew, but you aren’t her.”
She smiled at me.
There it is readers: strike up a conversation: it always works. Here I am striking sparks yet again with another cutie-pie.
I almost didn’t, but “DO IT; say something!” And boy am I glad I did.
At least five minutes of pleasant yammering: “And who might that be?”
“No idea, but I think she works at Pittsford-Plaza Wegmans.”
“DO IT!” “DO IT!” “DO IT!”
Women/girls/females seem to love talking. Let ‘em!
A simple exchange of emotions, back-and-forth.
—Now the missing cart episode.
I perused the 89-bazilyun coffee offerings in my supermarket, wandering away from my cart.
“Suddenly my cart is missing,” I said to no one in particular.
A tall pretty blonde appeared and conversation began.
“You should stand here with this errant cart,” she said; “and I bet your lost cart reappears.”
Not gorgeous, but pretty eyes; it’s the masks.
Tall and lithesome with pretty brown eyes.
Enter childhood: “What’s she talkin’ to me for?”
After a few minutes I gave up and started over. I had to shop blind. Most of my Smartphone grocery-list had been zapped during earlier shopping.
“Will the person looking for their shopping cart please come to the service desk.”
I headed that way.
“There she is again!” I said to that young cutie-pie I spoke to earlier.
She was the same girl I thought might be someone else.
She turned and smiled at me; I am so glad I said something. Five years ago I wouldna. “DO IT!” = incredible joy.
On my way to the service desk, I passed that lithesome blonde again.
Look-lookity-look — HEM-HAW! At long-last our eyes met, and “you found it!”
“WOW!” I’d say to myself.
“You talkin’ a-me?” my childhood would say. It's also Robert De Niro in Taxi-Driver.
That blonde was striking!
“DO IT!” “DO IT!” the little voice says. Success beyond imagination.
—Finally the girl with the torn Levis.
She was shopping the sushi-bar — I won’t tell my sushi joke.
“I almost said something to you out in the parking-lot, but didn’t. Your Levis exceed my Levi jacket, which I finally threw out, because people said I looked like a bum.”
She touched her pretty thigh and smiled. (She’s showing me her leg, dudes. Look what I get for striking up a conversation!)
There it is! I made the magic move: “yada-yada-yada-yada-yada.” By striking up a conversation I in effect told her I found her attractive.
Not gorgeous, but cute.
“My father says I should just throw these Levis in the trash. Goodwill won’t except ‘em as rags.”
70 years late Yr Fthfl Srvnt finds striking up a conversation, especially with a female, works fabulously.
“DO IT!” Bang on the window!
“Go to Hell, Bobby! Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Go DIRECTLY to Hell!”

• My sushi joke: last February I was walking my dog back from out Canandaigua’s city-pier, and I met a guy coming the other way who wondered if I saw any bait shops out there. “No,” I said; “but they sell sushi down at Wegmans.”