“You’re a busy man”

—“Every day something,” I said to my bereavement-counselor.
She was phoning to set up next month’s counseling-session.
—A) Yesterday (Monday) was pretty *****, head-honcho at my in-store supermarket pharmacy. ***** was probably the first pretty lady I successfully befriended — that is, who I wanted to befriend, and I succeeded.
—B) Today (Tuesday) would be the “temperature ladies” outside Thompson Hospital’s Physical-Therapy department. They determine whether you’re COVID-19 free.
One is pretty ******, astonishingly cute, and also quite young. I’m probably old enough to be her grandfather.
No matter, she seems to wanna talk to me. And that’s despite my mucking up royally with her a couple weeks ago.
—C) Tomorrow (Wednesday) will be my pretty lifeguard friend at Canandaigua’s YMCA swimming-pool. But that’s if she wants to talk to me, since I screwed up royally with her the other day.
If she doesn’t, there’s always Mrs. ******, my vaunted aquacise instructor — who seems to want me to continue liking her, despite her being married. (In fact, I’ll probably be trying to talk to both.)
That lifeguard friend is also married, but we seem to have got past that.
Pretty ***** at the pharmacy is married too.
****** may be too young to be married.
—D) Thursday I’d go up to hike Lehigh Valley RailTrail, risking another fabulous encounter with a pretty lady.
“Why always Lehigh Valley RailTrail?” people ask.
“Pretty ladies,” I say; “left-and-right, in abundance.”
—E) Friday I have a neurology appointment with another *******. She’s also married, but makes a very cute face. She twists her mouth, and looks askance = “yer makin’ that face again!”
She’s supposed to be professional, but mostly we laugh and carry-on = “hello Mr. Hughes,” she says.
“Nyuk-nyuk-nyuk-nyuk!” I say.
****** the neurologist prescribed an MRI brain-scan, but the hospital called back and told her they couldn’t find a brain.
****** the neurologist roared in laughter, but one of her male cohorts got upset.
Why is it women can laugh and men can’t?
—F) Saturday I shop the Canandaigua Weggers to buy groceries for the following week.
I never can get outta that store without striking sparks with some pretty lady. All I’m doing is striking up a conversation, which they perceive as my being attracted to them.
And they love it!
Yes, I was attracted enough to strike up a conversation, and apparently striking up a conversation is rare — especially since I ain’t hittin’ on ‘er.
—G) Sunday is Lehigh Valley RailTrail again, risking another encounter with a pretty lady.
“You’re a busy man,” my counselor says.
“And this is the way it’s been for weeks,” I said. “Every day striking sparks with some pretty lady!”
“No pretty lady will strike sparks with you!”
Childhood reversed! Marked for life! I was convinced of that 70+ years ago — my hyper-religious Sunday-School superintendent neighbor, and my Bible-thumping parents.
Today (Tuesday) will be the temperature ladies, with super-cute ******#1.
After 70+ years of hiding from pretty ladies, I am stunned I strike sparks as well as I do.
She’s my bereavement-counselor, but all we ever talk about is recovery from my dreadful childhood.