Lady friends

—People wonder why I continue aquatic balance-training at Canandaigua’s YMCA swimming-pool considering my balance degraded over the three years I’ve done it.
I have neuropathy: poor nerve communication to-and-from my feet — not diabetic.
No walker or cane yet, but I stagger and fall occasionally. I also walk flat-footed, and shuffle somewhat.
Standing on only one foot in that pool, with nothing to grab, is near impossible.
I was led to believe I’d return to the balance I had earlier. It worsened. What got much better was my ability to counter worsening balance.
So down in Altoona with my brother last month to shoot train photos in the snow: “Jack, will you please park next to that cutout so I don’t hafta get out across a snowbank?”
And no woods for This Kid. Questionable footing is a guaranteed fall.
My aquacise-instructor, the lady who leads my balance-training class, would celebrate my persistence.
But there’s more than that. I developed three fabulous lady friends at that swimming-pool, and much to my surprise.
I’m a product of hyper-religious Bible-beaters who convinced me at age-5 that no female would ever associate with me.
Any contact between the sexes was automatically EVIL and disgusting!
—My first fabulous lady friend would be that aquacise-instructor herself: a cute little sprite for age-61, in excellent shape, and totally devoid of thunder-thighs.
She’s also an easy smiler — her eyes sparkle when she smiles.
She was the first pretty lady to smile at me, or at least the first one I noticed. (If my wife did I never noticed.)
Then she wanted to walk dogs with me, which to someone like me was equivalent to a date.
“Just because a lady smiles at you, doesn’t mean she’s interested in you,” another lady friend once told me.
I wish I’d known that three years ago: no experience with women whatsoever!
There also were other incidents I could misread.
I stopped chasing her around the pool a while ago.
Only recently have I been able to begin talking to her again. Previously it was difficult due to the fact she was an instructor.
Now, thanks to the pandemic, I’m more able.
I also switched from talking to her, to letting her talk with me. I came to prefer her immediate reaction.
I do this with other ladies too. Women are just as capable of inspired thinking as men. In fact, to This Kid what matters is what’s between the ears, not sex appeal.
—My second fabulous lady friend would be my pretty lifeguard friend. She’s 65 years old, but doesn’t look it on her lifeguard stand. She’s rather impressive.
Every time I see her I think what in Hell’s name is she doing hanging out with me? I am nothing compared to her. She could do a lot better.
One time she walked out of the women’s locker room in a blue-plaid flannel shirt and slacks — she looked fabulous; not gorgeous but stunning and statuesque.
Why in Hell’s name, etc.
Years ago she said hello to me by name — she was probably just being sociable. I managed to crank enough nerve to say hello back, later of course.
So now we seem to be friends, and that’s despite the many flubs I made with her. I’m always dumbfounded.
We wave and laugh and smile at each other, and she’s not an easy smiler.
When she does smile she lights up the entire pool area. Fabulous eye-contact, it knocks me flat! “No pretty lady will smile at you!” And occasionally she does.
She’s married of course, as are all the others. But we seem to have got past that.
That is, any romantic intent on my part is long gone.
What friendship we have now is based on talking. I usually try to talk to her first; she’s the one who attracts me most.
Not only is she impressive, she’s also great fun to talk to. She possesses serious gray-matter.
She reminds me of my wife, although my wife was extraordinary.
—My third fabulous lady friend would be a second lifeguard friend.
She’s 58 years old, and also doesn’t look it.
Years ago I struck up a conversation with her outta the clear blue sky, and she was incredibly quick to parry it. By then I developed enough nerve to strike up a conversation with a female.
“YIPPEE!” I say to myself. “It’s ******.” We laugh and talk, and know each other. We always look for each other.
Years ago ****** and I made a deal, that she would cut me slack no matter how unsociable I was — I have so little socialization experience.
She still hangs with me.
****** is one of my three fabulous lady friends at that YMCA pool.
Every one is classy: no smokers, no drinkers, no gamblers, no lounge-lizards, no sluts or slatterns, no Harley mamas.
All pure as the driven snow: just like me.
I know my pretty lifeguard friend runs, and I’m pretty sure all three swim laps.
If none of those three lady friends were at that pool, I probably would continue my aquatic balance-training. As a shut-in I’d be bored silly in no time. No Dr. Phil for This Kid!
But those three fabulous lady friends make me wanna come to that pool.
I noticed last month return from Altoony is no longer depressing. It’s my lady friends.

• RE: “Pure as the driven snow: just like me;” —I heard the guffawing when I wrote that.