Say something to her

—Saturday morning: off to Mighty Weggers in Canandaigua to purchase groceries for the coming week.
I walk into the store, and there’s pretty ****** stocking raspberries. No pigtails, long blonde hair down.
I’d ask her where the pears were, and thereby say hello to her.
“It's only one ‘E’?” I shouted; “I thought I was two.” I was reading her name-tag.
I saw her again later.
“Don’t worry,” I said to her. “I’m not slingin’ your name all over the Internet.
I don’t want some creep stalking you!
I do your name as asterisks, but I was doing seven, and I guess it should be six.”
She smiled and her eyes sparkled, which is why I always say hello to her.
That Weggers is doing a “grocery-reset,” which is supermarket lingo for “moving everything.”
I ambled down a center-aisle, looking down the cross aisles.
Thankfully that Weggers is kind enough to put clerks out to tell you where things were moved to.
Here comes a pretty little girl in a yellow “helping-hands” tee-shirt.
Our eyes met, and “cooking-spray,” I asked.
She walked me to the aisle where cooking-spray now was, but I met her again later.
“Mustard,” I asked.
“Aisle 12a with the condiments,” she chirped.
I met her again later, but all I did was wave.
What I didn’t say is “I’m 77 years old, which qualifies me to tell you you’re a pretty girl.
That’s one of the perks of old age. I can tell you that without getting smacked.”
(“Just humor him! He’s a harmless geezer!”)
I didn’t say that to her, although the thought crossed my mind. (I’ve done it before.)
A pretty little thing, preferable to the Harley-mama in another “helping-hands” tee-shirt.
Now to “self check-out,” hoping to meet ******, another one of my Weggers friends who happens to be female.
No ******, but a fairly cute girl was standing in wait in front of her checkout lane.
“Well,” I said; “I don’t see my friend, so I guess it will be you.”
She began ringing up my groceries, but I noticed her name-tag had the same name as a girl I once knew.
Say something to her! By doing that you tell her you find her attractive. She’ll like that.
“Yada-yada-yada-yada-yada,” followed by “I’m old enough to be your grandfather!
That other girl had a five-letter name; yours is only three letters. She also was a millennial, born in 2000.”
“Well I’m Gen-X,” she said.
“What’s ‘Gen-X’?” I asked.
“17 years old,” she said, smiling, pretty eyes twinkling. (We were still masked.)
“Go to Hell, Bobby! Do not pass Go, do not collect $200! Go DIRECTLY to Hell!”

• “Mighty Weggers” is Wegmans, a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester where I often buy groceries. They have a store in Canandaigua.
• I used to call ****** “pigtail girl.” She’d have her long blonde hair braided into waist-length pigtails. I stopped, because we decided it was demeaning. —****** is a Wegmans produce clerk.