It’s so surprising

—“Ya dropped something!” I yelled to pretty ****** at my supermarket.
She’s a store employee, and was stocking something in produce.
She attempted to move an empty carton to the front of her cart, and it tumbled onto the floor.
“WING IT!” I thought to myself. I was only gonna say hello, but “ya dropped something” instead.
Even saying hello could be perceived a FLIRT = EVIL intent. (GASP!)
She smiled when she saw it was me. I could see it! We were wearing masks, but her pretty eyes told me.
And that’s despite those funky black mascara-chips she wears. Her eyes sparkled!
I don’t wanna be perceived a dirty old man, so WING IT!
The old waazoo: make her smile! Let her know I like her, and without evil intent.
Before ****** was ****** in self check-out. We always know each other so “happy to see ya!”
She called me “BobbaLew.”
“You remembered,” I said.
She began a long dissertation about “I love Lucy” and Ricky Ricardo, who used to “Babalu” with bongos.
GOODIE! She’s talking to me. Let her! Don’t interrupt!
“It was ‘I love Lucy’ in the ‘70s when I was growing up,” she said.
“Well I’m ‘50s,” I noted.
Something was going wrong. I could see it! It looked like I hurt her.
How can I put us back to enjoying each other?
I told her the e-mail signature in my iPhone was “nyuk-nyuk-nyuk-nyuk-nyuk:” Curly of the Three Stooges.
(“This guy doesn’t want me to hurt.”)
“My husband is a Stooges freak,” she said.
“I can’t stand ‘em!” she continued.
Talk-talk-talk-talkity-talk! And women love talking. Let ‘em; encourage it!
“Them Stooges have been around since the ‘30s,” I said. “That’s 80 years ago. And they’re still extant!”
What a wonderful way to make lady friends.
“We could talk forever,” a lady-friend tells me.
“Yes, we probably could,” I thought to myself later.
The simple exchange of emotions back-and-forth.
Before the supermarket would be 45 minutes of “water-walk” in Canandaigua’s YMCA swimming pool.
*****, my 65-year-old lifeguard friend at that pool — she doesn’t look 65 — would probably not be there. I’ve never seen ***** on Friday.
But pretty young ***** was lifeguarding. ***** is the one who last Friday kept glancing at me as if she wanted me to say something to her.
No procrastinatin’ this time; I’d talk with her as soon as I could.
“You I know,” I said to her as she walked past.
She turned and smiled at me. Our pointless yammering began. I don’t remember any of it, except I like talking with *****.
It’s the old “I like hearing her voice, and she likes my wanting to talk with her.”
Pool-time finished I walked over to her lifeguard-stand. She was on it.
It looked like she was pleased I had a little more to say to her.
She’s currently brunette, but said something earlier about once being blonde.
“So it sounds like you dye your hair,” I said to her; “which is okay with me, but please don’t dye it green!”
“I had it purple long ago,” she told me.
“Well you woulda lost me!” I exclaimed.
“There’s a lady up at Thompson-Hospital’s Physical-Therapy who dyes her hair fire-engine red.
I can’t talk with her. Her hair-color turns me off!”
“So what hair color do you prefer?” ***** asked.
“Natural,” I told her. “No tattoos either, or facial steel. No nose-rings. I told ***** once if she wanted me to stop talking to her, all she had to do was get a nose-ring.”
And talking about hair color is pointless yammering — it’s just talk.
But she isn’t telling me to get lost, or to stop talking to her. She wants me to talk to her. (It means I like her.)
All these fabulous female interactions reverse how I was brought up: “No female will ever associate with you, Bobby! You are disgusting!”
No hoary childhood for my many wonderful female friends. Just enjoy their company as much as I can.