Fabricatin’

—“Were you the gentleman who told me the other day I had pretty eyes?” the lady would ask.
“Could be,” I'd say. “Lemme see…….
Yep!” I’d say, after looking straight into her pretty eyes.
“Yer eyes are still gorgeous, so it was probably me.”
“That was so touching!” she’d say.
“And I was touched you found that touching,” I’d say.
“I hafta continually remind myself I actually told you that,” I’d say.
“I usually keep to myself. In fact I was gonna avoid you. Scared of pretty ladies.
But I am so glad I told you that.
You and I are complete strangers, so you don’t know my history.
70+ years ago I was told no pretty lady would have anything to do with me.
My wife died over eight years ago — cancer always wins. She put up with me over 44 years, despite the royal mess I was, and still am somewhat.
Now that she’s gone I discover those fevered zealots who convinced me I was despicable were WRONG!
I also had a dog — my four-legged chick-magnet now also gone — who got me used to talking to pretty girls.
A while ago I did similar. I went to Applebee’s to pick up pre-ordered takeout. A smashingly beautiful young girl brought it out.
‘I hafta say something,’ I said. ‘I’m 76 years old, and you’re a pretty girl.’
She blushed, and I was stunned. The lifelong scumbag told a girl she was pretty?
You’re not the first. I told another lady she had gorgeous eyes, and she did.
What’s amazing is now I can do this.
I got much better at striking up conversations, even with gorgeous ladies. And apparently I say the right things.
Too innocent and inexperienced to be devious.
So your eyes are gorgeous, and I’m not trying to get cozy.
Ten years ago I wouldna said anything to you at all. I woulda been scared.”
“DREAMIN’!” my critics shout.