The curse of Hilda Q. Walton

—Would that I could run a photo of my pharmacist lady-friend, but I dare not because I don’t want her being stalked by some drooling geezer.
She’s become a good friend, and sadly my reaction to her is vastly distorted by my hoary childhood.
I keep thinking of her as “pretty *****;” and I don’t wanna think of her as “pretty,” because to me that’s flirtatious.
The Internet has become a repository of vipers and loathsome lotharios. I don’t want such people stalking *****.
Our friendship is also surprising.
I first met ***** years ago when she was working at a big-box pharmacy across the street from where she is now.
At that time I always thought of her as “angry *****.”
She gave me a tetanus-shot once, and “uh-oh, here comes ‘angry *****;’ gotta be on my best behavior. She always looks mad as Hell.”
She apologized to me about that later, and I realized it wasn't “angry *****” I was seeing; it was “up-the-wall *****.”
Sorely misused by her bosses; degreed in pharmacy, but being used as a clerk.
Now that she came across the street to set up her own pharmacy, she became much friendlier.
I never saw ***** smile across the street, but now in her new pharmacy I see her smile.
It’s extremely pleasant, and I really like the new *****.
Totally unexpected.
We became friends largely because of her little boy, age-6, who apparently is a serious railfan.
I’d give ***** one of my annual train-calendars, and she’d pass it along to her little boy. He was so thrilled by it he’d take it to bed.
Now he has many of my train photographs plastered all over his bedroom wall.
I also loaned them a couple of my train DVDs, plus I e-mailed them a few YouTube train-video links.
(***** gave me her business card, which has her e-mail address on it.)
GOSH! A girl, and a pretty one too.
She contradicts “No pretty girl will befriend you, Bobby! You are EVIL and filled with lust!” I.e. the curse of Hilda Q. Walton.
*****’s willingness to talk with me — and her eagerness is extraordinary — is extremely pleasant.
She’s not gorgeous; she’s probably late 30s or early 40s. But not long ago she was pretty enough to intimidate me — and still is.
I have other lady friends, age-58 through age-65, who are still attractive.
But it’s mainly because I can talk to them; ***** too.
My being so smitten by ***** is a function of my hoary childhood. (“Thank you Hilda and my parents”)! Sanctimonious and overly-judgmental Bible-beaters all!
Yrs Trly worries about his reaction to *****. I worry I’ve lost it!
I’ll be meeting ***** again sometime, and I worry about making a fool of myself, e.g. depressed if ***** is a little standoffish.
I also worry about ***** perhaps being more forthcoming (“impossible”).
I already blew it with another lady-friend, and I don’t wanna do it again — nor lose her.
Overreaction dudes, all thanks to Hilda and my parents.

• “Hilda Q. Walton” in the headline is an active link.
• My brother and I photograph trains down near Altoona PA, where the old Pennsylvania Railroad crossed Allegheny Mountain. The railroad is now Norfolk Southern. Every year I take 13 of our 89 bazilyun photographs to assemble into a calendar — I do it with Shutterfly. I give those calendars as Christmas presents.