Ready for duty

My finely folded fitted sheet.

—“If it’s Tuesday,” I say to myself; “I strike sparks with Thompson Hospital’s ‘temperature-ladies,’ one of whom is extremely pretty.
Not gorgeous, but young and extremely pretty.”
Both “temperature-ladies” are young and attractive. But pretty-girl’s sidekick has eyes more gorgeous than pretty-girl. But sidekick looks a little overweight. Cute, but heavy.
Pretty-girl isn’t overweight. She’s also not a Harley-mama.
The temperature-ladies, whose names I don’t know, hold court in the lobby next to that hospital’s Physical-Therapy department.
I no longer do physical-therapy, but I still do an exercise program on that department’s machines.
The temperature-ladies are there per COVID-19 protocol. Pretty-girl takes your temperature, and her sidekick renders what I call the speech: “Covid symptoms including blah-blah-blah-blah-blah; out of the country within the last 90 days? Blah-blah……”
I do it over my car’s Bluetooth on my way in: “Please say a command.” “Call temperature-ladies!”
So how does a 76-year-old outta-shape geezer befriend one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen?
I tried to start a conversation a couple weeks ago: I told her she had pretty eyes.
Bad mistake! That made her nervous, eyes to the floor, smile disappeared.
“Oh well,” I thought to myself. “Another lost effort; try someone else.”
And pretty-girl has been constant since Physical-Therapy reopened. Her sidekick changed a few times.
Yrs Trly discovered the key to striking sparks with a pretty girl is most importantly: don’t hit on her! Treat her as a person instead of a sex-object — or a trophy.
More importantly, make ‘em laugh, and let ‘em talk. Women love talking, so let ‘em!
Pretty-girl has since gotten friendlier (opened back up). I got her laughing a few times, and treated her as an equal. Disregard her incredible beauty: “hooray-hooray; a male who likes me as a person!”
And don’t tell her I’m thrilled such a pretty girl wants to talk with me.
As you all know, I have a sordid history: “no pretty girl will associate with you! You are disgusting!”
Next Tuesday, I will walk into the Physical-Therapy lobby, and unholster my iPhone for the temperature-ladies.
“I could tell you a short story if you want,” and I bet they’ll wanna hear my story. (The simple exchange of emotions back-and-forth = let ‘em talk!)
“I received the Christmas annual a week ago from my cousin in Arlington, VA. He said something about his girlfriend (late ’70s) wanting him to learn how to fold a fitted sheet.”
That was the end of their relationship: his learning how to fold a fitted-sheet was utterly beyond the pale.
I quickly zagged into my laundry-room with my iPhone to photograph my finely folded fitted-sheet. Ready for duty; to be installed by my cleaning lady.
I bet those two ladies laugh; including the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my entire life (I think, although I may be wrong).
“What in the world is that old geezer doin’ attractin’ all them pretty ladies?”
Next will be the next day (Wednesday), when I might meet my pretty lifeguard friend again at Canandaigua’s YMCA swimming-pool. (Say it again; don’t be afraid.)
And let ‘em talk! Next time I won’t butt in on my lifeguard friend.

• “Harley-mama” defined: no smoking, no drinking, no gambling, no sluts or slatterns; nothing but class. No Harley-mamas for this kid!