Paradigm shift

—“You are so much fun to talk to,” said the wife of my mower-man.
We had just burned 15-20 minutes of continuous yammering, and I was walking out of their shop.
They had spring-serviced my giant zero-turn, so I was paying my bill.
I would correct what she said to “you have become so much fun to talk to.”
I didn’t used to be that way. For over 70 years I pretty much kept to myself.
Long ago I was convinced no one would wanna talk to me.
Raised by Bible-beaters, including a sanctimonious, overly-judgmental, Sunday-School superintendent neighbor who convinced me all males, including me at age-five, were EVIL and disgusting.
My parents heartily agreed, since I was already in deepest doo-doo for being unable to worship my holier-than-thou father.
“Rebellious!” they declared.
“Shy,” my brother says.
“Yeah,” I say. “No one will talk to you, Bobby! So keep to yourself!”
Now, 70 years late, and nine years after my beloved wife died, I find the Bible-beaters were the ones who were WRONG.
Since my wife died, I got loose-as-a-goose.
My silly dog, a chick-magnet, got me used to talking with pretty girls.
And I discovered what a joy it is to strike up a conversation with anyone, especially females.
I told mower-man’s wife I hiked Lehigh Valley RailTrail that morning, and met my newfound lady-friend (“friend who happens to be female”).
That girl was an upper; I was somewhat depressed before her.
Even two years ago I wouldna mentioned my rail-trail friend to mower-man’s wife. Mentioning a pleasant female encounter to another female seemed unfair to me.
But she was happy I met my rail-trail friend.
“I like seeing you smile,” she kept saying.
“I live alone, my wife died nine years ago, no dog anymore. Sometimes I get depressed.
That rail-trail girl lifted my spirits.”
“I like seeing you smile,” she said again.
“Aww man,” I thought to myself regarding mower-man’s wife; “I’m no good talking to women. In fact I’m no good talking to anyone.”
Not anymore!
People wanna talk! Even with someone like me who once thought no one would wanna talk to me.
Strike up a conversation, and they won’t shaddup.
“We could talk ‘til Kingdom-Come, but I gotta buy groceries!”
Yr Fthfl Srvnt has had so many pleasant conversations I forgot the Bible-thumpers.
“Go to Hell, Bobby! Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Go DIRECTLY to Hell!”
—And some day I might take that rail-trail girl out to dinner, mainly because we can talk.
It ain’t lust — other than that she’s attractive. (“GASP!”)
It’s her smile, as always. (“KerClick, KerClick, KerClick, KerClick!”)

• My “zero-turn” is my 48-inch riding-mower; “zero-turn” because it’s a special design with separate drives to each drive-wheel, so it can be spun on a dime. “Zero-turns” are becoming the norm, because they cut mowing time compared to a lawn-tractor, which has to be set up for each mowing-pass. —That mower came from that shop.