“We could talk forever”

—This here blog is becoming catharsis for Yr Fthfl Srvnt.
My reader-count declines. 20-25 a while ago, then maybe 15, then ten or so, now maybe six.
Readers tire of my continually celebratin’ my mind-blowing successes with women.
Which after my childhood I never considered.
“No female will ever have anything to do with you, Bobby! You are despicable!”
All my life I paid for Faire Hilda’s husband fooling around. She became a self-righteous prude. Eager to tell little Bobby next-door, who was already an overly weak pushover, that all males, including him at age 5, were evil scumbags.
Had my hyper-religious Bible-thumping parents come to my defense, Faire Hilda woulda crashed mightily in flames. But I was “rebellious” for being unable to worship my holier-than-thou father, worthy of the right hand of Jesus.
Tomorrow (Monday, April 12th), if it’s not pouring rain, I will hike my 2.8 miles on Lehigh Valley RailTrail, chancing a pleasant encounter with a pretty lady.
Strike up a conversation, and they wanna talk.
After that rail-trail I will visit my pharmacy in Honeoye Falls, where I chance meeting pretty *****, who I will probably discontinue calling “pretty *****.”
“Pretty *****” is flirtatious (EVIL; gasp)! ***** has become much more than someone I could “lust after.”
She became a girl I enjoy talking with, who also happens to be pretty.
This wasn’t what I expected. She seemed aloof and distant at first.
But that was when she worked at a big-box pharmacy across the street.
What a waste! Degreed as a pharmacist, but used as a clerk.
Now she’s head-honcho of her own pharmacy. She’s much happier, I see it, I like it, and I tell her!
I also discovered she’s not aloof and distant.
Two years ago she gave me a flu vaccination, and we began talking afterward.
“Don’t you wanna leave?” I kept thinking to myself. (That’s Hilda!)
“NOPE!” She wanted to talk.
Finally, “back to work; sigh……”
And of course it’s just pointless yammering; she likes that I want her to talk to me, and I like hearing her pretty voice.
I admit a perverse and pernicious factor in our relationship. She’s a girl, and she’s also pretty. She counters “No pretty lady will ever talk to you!”
Of course ***** is one of many. I’ve noticed (“CHANGE THE CHANNEL! He’s a-doin’ that there thinkin’ again!”) women love talking, especially the pretty girls.
“YIPPEE, a guy not hitting on me, nor trying to snag me as a trophy-girl.” Talk-talk-talk-talkity-talk!
I will give ***** a pile of my old train-calendars I was going to toss.
“I can think of two railfans who’d want those old calendars, and one is only six years old.
“I favor the six-year-old!” I’d tell her. Her son is age-6, and takes my most recent train-calendar to bed with him.
“I was age-6 once, and I know what it means to have an adult other than your parents care about you.
In fact, I’m not sure even my own parents cared about me, but that’s another story,” I’d tell her.
“A long and sorry story; you don’t wanna hear it!
Let’s just talk,” I’d say to her.
She’d smile, and off we’d go.
“You know what woulda happened if you vaccinated me against COVID-19?” I’d say to her. “We woulda talked and talked and talked and talked while customers piled up.”
“We could talk forever,” she once told me.
“We probably could,” I thought to myself later.
Per my critics, if she’s faking it, she’s awfully good at it.

• For preverts among my readers, ***** is a tiny little thing. Not gorgeous, but pretty enough to have been intimidating. What I like is that she is such fun to talk with.