“Don’t overdo it” continued

—Yrs Trly is considering a small experiment with a girl I recently befriended……..
….. In my ongoing attempt to befriend desirable females, contradicting my early childhood, when Bible-thumping hyper-religious zealots convinced me “no pretty girl will ever have anything to do with you!”
My experiment is based on two observations:
—1) If I request permission to relate a story, the girl usually wants to hear my story. I’m not shoving it down her throat, and she can refuse.
Requesting permission has worked.
“Maybe not now,” I say; “but some-time.”
That sets the girl up. “What’s on his mind? What’s he gonna say to me?” She wants the story; just slamming her with my story turns her off.
I did that with another lady once, and “drop everything!” She wanted to hear my story, and right now!
—2) If I minimize my talking, the girl wants more — talking that is. Women love talking.
“Just saying hello,” I said to ****** yesterday at Canandaigua’s Weggers.
She smiled at me. No sexual import; she didn’t hafta defend herself. Yet she got the male recognition women love.
I’m safe; I’m not hitting on her.
And I don’t call her “pigtail-girl” any more, since that might seem forthcoming.
Dale Carnegie says use her name, which I did later.
She smiled at me again!
My story is to tell her I said nothing to her for a while fearing she might take my head off.
Her smiling at me turned her into a pretty little thing, a girl (GASP).
My lifeguard friend is also a girl.
She long-ago said hello to me outta the clear blue sky — she was probably just being sociable — which left me stunned.
“What’s she saying hello to me for? “No pretty lady will ever talk to you! You are disgusting!”
“I'm hoping we can talk before I leave,” instead of just throwing my topic at the lady without notice. That sets the lady up = now she wants to talk with me.
Little-by-little the dude learns the art of conversation with women. —Scared of women over 60 years.
So now I find myself conjuring long-winded yammering with my various lady friends. Talking to myself; yammering never delivered.
I stopped chasing my pretty lifeguard friend around the YMCA swimming-pool, in hopes I wouldn’t be sickening.
We talk and laugh and swap stories occasionally. It’s wonderful: I’m talking with a female.
I have other lady friends, and garner ‘em like crazy. All I do is encourage ‘em to talk, which they seem to love. Make ‘em laugh, listen to ‘em; but not hit on ‘em!
Girls-girls-girls-girls-girls! So pleasant. For me the thought of interacting with women was beyond imagining.
Thinking myself a charmer, a good laugh, a storyteller, is hard to believe when I was convinced I was EVIL and despicable.
Requiring my lady friends to parry such madness is depressing.
“No pretty female will ever hang out with you, Bobby!”
BUNK!