Pitched battle

—“One of these days I gotta tell ya about the pitched battle that went on in my head before I bought that sympathy card.”
I would say that to ***** and/or ******, my two lifeguard friends at Canandaigua’s YMCA swimming-pool.
Both are female, and ***** is impressive for age-65.
******, age-58, is my easier friend, and also doesn’t look her age.
****** always smiles at me, and is happy to see me. With ***** I feel like I’m overreaching = too impressive for a lifelong scumbag.
*****’s mother died not long ago, so I wanted to tell ***** I was thinking about her. We seem to be friends.
On one side of my head was Satan, represented by ******, exhorting me to buy the card.
“Your giving that card to ***** will make her happy!”
On other side of my head were the sanctimonious Bible-thumpers of my hoary childhood.
“You give ***** that card, and she’ll think yer hittin’ on her. Evil intent, I tell ya! Yer heart is filled with LUST!”
“Thankfully,” I’d say to *****/******; “I had enough pleasant experiences with women, including you, that I don’t listen to those prudes anymore.”
I bought the card, and I gave it to *****, which made her very happy.
Not only was I telling her I cared about her; she also could celebrate my triumph over the self-righteous zealots.
It seems ***** might have joined ****** in my ongoing struggle against the Bible-thumpers.