Voicemail maunderings

—“Hi Robert, this is ‘John’ calling from ****’s office. Just wanted to let you know I set up your next appointment for…….”
“****,****,****,” I said to myself. My voicemail translator made her into “John.”
“So pleasant to hear your pretty voice again,” I thought to myself. “It has been so long since we last talked.”
Which had me wondering why it was so joyous to hear her voice again.
**** isn’t that pretty; in fact she’s almost a frump.
Down at my supermarket: “I know you; you look familiar; you work at *****. You’re the receptionist who sets up my bereavement-counselor appointments.”
I struck up a conversation with her years ago. My wife would call it FLIRTING; my pretty lifeguard friend at Canandaigua’s YMCA swimming pool says it’s not.
To that lifeguard mere conversation between individuals of the opposite sex isn’t flirting.
Like me, my wife was raised by Bible-thumpers; mainly her mother and other female relatives. Her father wasn’t so difficult.
Per the Bible-beaters any interaction between individuals of the opposite sex is EVIL and salacious.
My wife was fragile. To her, pleasant interaction between me and another female was threatening.
So I hardly said anything to any other females — I didn’t wanna hurt my wife’s feelings.
So now that she’s gone — she died nine years ago — I strike up conversations with women willy-nilly.
**** was well after my wife died; bereavement-counseling began afterward.
Long ago I walked inside my counseling emporium, and there was **** looking cute and pretty.
She had an engaging smile, so I struck up a conversation. By then I developed enough nerve to be able to do that.
She wasn’t cute in my supermarket, but so what? I knew her, and she recognized me.
“Happy to see ya!
Little more than that!
So hearing her pretty voice again was extremely pleasant.