“Keep evolving”

—“Keep evolving, YOU!” says the birthday-card from my aquacise-instructor at Canandaigua’s YMCA swimming-pool.
“Keep evolving” refers to something I said to her the other day, about how I no longer was who I was when we walked our dogs three years ago.
“Yes,” she said. “You’re coming out of your shell.”
She’s not first to say that. There’s also my cleaning-lady, my bereavement-counselor, plus various friends.
Yrs Trly had a dreadful childhood. Very early I was convinced I was rebellious and disgusting; that —A) all males, including me at age-5, were despicable.
And —B) I was rebellious and sinful because I couldn’t worship my holier-than-thou father.
That aquacise-instructor became my most important female friend, despite my continual muck-ups.
Maybe it’s her nature, except some of my other lady-friends are much more forgiving than I expect.
I come from a family of scorekeepers, mainly my father.
Since I was able back then, I gave a couple thousand dollars to my younger siblings to help pay their way through college.
My father never thanked me; “are you kidding?”
What I got instead was continual weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth over the $600 he had to pay for a car-loan he cosigned for me.
I’m used to people keeping score = holding grudges.
I have another lady-friend at that YMCA swimming-pool; she’s a lifeguard.
Like that aquacise-instructor she’s also married, and I’ve mucked her up royally at least twice.
Once I mucked her up so badly I thought I lost her forever = “never in a million years is she gonna forgive me.”
A few days later we met again, and “happy to see ya!”
She was smiling at me; this was not the world I came from = this was not my father.
“Well okay,” I said to myself; “if you can forget the other day I guess I can too.”
I mucked up with her again just recently, but a week later I met her again and “happy to see ya!” —But me more than her, since I decided if I was happy to see her, that might make her happy to see me.
It worked!
Friendship restored, or so it seemed.
Yr Fthfl Srvnt has no experience whatsoever dealing with women. I was always scared of ‘em = “no pretty lady will ever associate with you! You are despicable!”
What “evolution” occurred is now I can talk to pretty ladies. That’s mainly my dog, my four-legged chick-magnet, who I lost six months ago.
He’d drag me into meeting some pretty girl, slam into her pretty knees, and start nuzzling.
“Oh what a pretty dog. Can I pet him?”
Here I am talking with another pretty girl.
“Okay,” I thought to myself. “Go with the flow.”
My confidence increased with every encounter.
“Keep evolving,” she says; except now “evolving” occurs at a breakneck pace.
I no longer can escape my supermarket without striking sparks with some pretty girl. “Gotta say hello to her; she’s gorgeous.”
“Are you by any chance the pigtail girl?” —She turned and smiled at me; she didn’t take my head off.
“I normally keep to myself in this store. I don’t talk to anyone. But your eyes are gorgeous.”
“You are so sweet,” she whispered as she caressed my arm.
“I saw that!” I shouted. “Saw what?” the lady asks.
“You twinkled your eyes at me!” “You are cute!” she exclaimed.
“I hafta say something,” I said to the girl bringing out my takeout dinner. “I am 76 years old, and you are a pretty girl.”
BLUSH!
“I hafta come this way, because you have the eyes. Many don’t, but you were blessed.”
Again BLUSH!
My confidence builds by leaps and bounds = at breakneck speed.
DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! “Take the risk,” my bereavement-counselor says. No ladies have smacked me yet, nor have I been MACED. I’m continually amazed I do as well as I do.
All of this counters my hoary childhood. “No pretty lady will I have anything to do with you! You are scum!”
So the other day I struck up a conversation with one of my aquacise-instructor’s clients.
“You look familiar,” I said to her. That brightened her right up: kaboom! “He wants to talk to me, YIPPEE!”
Off we went. “Yada-yada-yada-yada-yada.” 15-20 minutes; way more than I ever expected.
Proving yet again what women like most is talking; and nothing goes over better with a lady then indicating to her you’re attracted to her enough to wanna talk to her. (A guy, no less.)
Later I realized I woulda never said anything to that client six months ago. Then I cut back to three months; then I cut back to a month. Then it became two weeks, and now I don’t know if I coulda struck up a conversation with her a week ago. Things are happening at rocket speed.
Boom-zoom: DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!
I wrote two texts to that aquacise-instructor, but sent neither.
Yrs Trly decided face-to-face works a lot better than text, which is one-sided.
I wanna hear what she has to say. She’s quite liable to say something other than what I expect.
Plus women love talking, especially as equals. I’ve had it happen so many times.
Let’s talk, you and me. I’m all ears!

• My birthday was Friday February 5th, 77 years old. So “evolving” 70+ years late.