Two incidents

My niece R***** is to my right; R*****’s ex’s new “main-squeeze” is to my left. Would that Yrs Trly could crank a smile like these two! (In the photo-booth.)

—Incident number-one:
“When you told me that pretty girl a-hangin’ with R*****’s ex was only 21, and R*****’s ex was 40,” I said to my brother’s wife; “I thought -A) that dude is a-robbin’ the cradle, and -B) I’m old enough to be her grandfather!”
“I don’t know what she sees in him!” my brother’s wife exclaimed. “He sure made R***** feel inferior.”
“Maybe they can talk,” I said. “Talk is very important, and many men refuse.”
I was south of Boston, attending the wedding celebration of my brother’s son who was married a few months ago during the pandemic.
We had the celebration outside in my brother’s giant backyard. I think it will last too, since my brother’s son married a smiler.
We ate outside under a large tent.
I sat at a table, and here comes ex’s new “main-squeeze” to sit right beside me, with ex the other side of her.
“Did she intend this?” I thought to myself. (“DREAMIN’!”)
Perhaps she deduced I’m a talker, and also I’m attracted to her. That stuff radiates.
No conversation until the famblee-dog appeared.
“Oh,” I said; “the famblee-dog, who wants me to pet her. She decided I’m a dog-person.”
“I’m a dog-person too,” pretty girl chirped, turning toward me smiling, pretty eyes flashing. (“Kick the phonograph, Luke!”)
Off we went: “Yada-Yada-Yada-Yada-Yada-Yada-Yada!”
The old waazoo: pointless yammering; I like hearing her pretty voice, and “YIPPEE, a guy who finds me attractive, and likes talking with girls! Plus he’s not hitting on me.”
Yrs Trly comes along, attracted to her as much as I hope R*****’s ex is.
Now what? A second dude who also finds her attractive and wants to talk with her.
Is the poor girl getting a dude who likes her as a person?
She’s very cute, but sad-to-say, she’s not as attractive as my 65-year-old lifeguard friend.
Wrinkly knees, and wrinkles up-close-and-personal. But on her lifeguard stand she looks middle 40s.
What attracts me are: -A) she’s in shape. She swims laps and runs.
Main-squeeze is very pretty in her face, pretty eyes and eyebrows, and a gorgeous smile. But beyond that she’s not in shape.
Another friend might complain I’m judging a girl by salacious parameters.
I disagree!
What attract me are the smile and the eyes (“Here we go again!”), not sexual attributes.
Smiling and flashing eyes are only occasional with that lifeguard, but when I get ‘em I am smitten!
Also: -B) we can talk. Somehow we became comfortable talking.
She’s also someone I already know. I know what works, and also what won’t.
I think she likes knowing I’d rather not lose her.
With pretty girl I had to be more careful.
I made her nervous once; I could see it in her facial expression.
We got past that, perhaps because she could see I didn’t wanna lose her.
We talked about losing my wife, and per usual I started crying. “I wish some dude cared about me as much as this dude cared about his wife.”
She tried to console me, but eventually she and R*****’s ex moved to another table.
I saw both her and ex a few more times after that, and spoke to her once at a table behind me.
Her response was flat, but by then I was more interested in talking to ex.
I started walking out, but then saw them both at a table outside the party.
Two years ago I wouldna done this, but I turned toward them both.
She saw me coming, and looked happy to see me coming.
“Not you this time,” I said to her. “This time *****” (ex).
Let him know I value his friendship as much as hers. I.e. I’m not trying to cut past him.
“Are you by any chance computer savvy?” I asked.
“Meh!” he gesticulated.
“What if I wanna view American Graffiti in entirety on my computer screen. That sounds like download it somehow, but I don't know how anything works.
I’m probably one of the oldest people at this party, and most of those here are 30-40 years younger than I am.
I need explanation.”
“Your best bet,” he said; “is Amazon.”
Pretty girl unholstered her SmartPhone and fired up American Graffiti via Amazon.
“Four dollars to rent, or eight dollars to purchase.”
Being the skinflint all Hugheses are “I prefer four dollars to rent.”
We talked quite a bit more concerning how things worked, and noted I had to watch the entire flique in 24 hours if I rented.
No way José! “Ten minutes here, 20 minutes there, another 10 minutes, then 30 minutes. I’ll be doing good if I can watch the whole movie in less than two weeks!”
I saw ***** again later: “I sure appreciate your letting me pick your brain. I’da rented that sucker eons ago, but never knew how anything worked.
I think for eight bucks I’ll just buy it. Eight bucks is peanuts.”
I saw pretty girl one more time and waved at her faintly. Let her know I’m not avoiding her.
Then into the garage to go into the house for bed. But to do so I had to pass the photo-booth.
A photo-booth had been set up in my brother’s garage to take digital pictures of those who attended.
I avoided it for some time, but to go into the house I had to pass it in the garage.
“Here for a photo-booth picture?” the lady asked.
I was set to defer, but R***** and pretty girl were nearby, so the photo-booth lady wanted to get us all together for a picture.
So here came pretty girl one more time so the old geezer could wrap his flaccid arms around two pretty ladies.
“Are you sure?” I asked pretty girl.
Our bodies merged, and I did something the Bible-beaters would never approve: I touched two pretty girls (“GASP”); headed DIRECTLY for Hell, smiling all the way.
(Photo above.)

—Incident number-two:
“So what are you trying to tell me R*****?”
We were in my brother’s kitchen after the party, and R***** is my brother’s only daughter.
“I'm trying to get you to stay an extra day,” R***** said.
The last time I saw her was depressing. She was overweight and looked awful.
Readers, I just exercised the most important facet of Dale Carnegie’s “How to Win Friends and Influence People.”
SAY THE PERSON’S NAME!
Which tells R***** I thought enough of her to address her by name — that’s how she perceived it.
“Uncle Bobby likes me! He likes what he sees!”
I make her feel good by just saying her name. Two years ago I never woulda done such a thing, but I discovered it works; i.e. it’s worth doing!
“I can't stay an extra day!” I said. “I have an appointment on Monday.”
“Yeah,” she said. “But it’s TeleMed. You could do it from here.”
“I thought about that,” I said. “That counselor and I both have iPhones, so we do our appointments FaceTime.
Beyond that,” I said; “I’m also outta pills. I don’t have any for Monday.”
She kept badgering me.
Dare I say it? I think she wanted me to stay around to keep making her happy.
“I'll tell you what the real problem is,” I said. “It’s girls; girls-girls-girls-girls-girls-girls-girls-girls-girls; oh how I love ‘em.
They’re so much fun to talk with, and I love talking with ‘em.
I have so many pleasant lady friends — ‘friends who happen to be female’ — and I wanna get back to ‘em.
We talk and talk and talk and talk and talk, and enjoy each other’s company.”
“Why girls?” She asked.
“Because many years ago, at age-5, I was convinced no girl would ever have anything to do with me.”
“That’s insane!” she said. “Who convinced you of that?”
“My hyper-religious parents and my hyper-religious Sunday-School superintendent neighbor,” I said.
Here I'm the famblee punching-bag.
It’s like every famblee needs a punching-bag, and I’m it: the same sorry litany I been hearing since I was five years old.
If it’s just you and me; we enjoy each other — talking.
I think it’s ‘No pretty lady will talk to you, Bobby! You are EVIL and disgusting!’ Versus ‘Yada-Yada-Yada-Yada-Yada-Yada-Yada.’
‘You are so much fun to talk to;’ ‘we could talk forever;’ ‘I hope we meet again;’ ‘you are so sweet.’” (“All balderdash!”)
I was making R***** happy. I liked what I saw, and she picked that up.
There's nothing I like more than making a girl happy — I never even imagined it.
Too bad I couldn’t stay one more day: I like making R***** happy.
I also wish I coulda hung around an extra day for pretty girl. That shindig will probably be the last time I ever see her in my entire life.

• I have a print-out of that picture I used. I think I will cut it out and paste it on my kitchen-wall to remind myself this really happened. After a stroke and my wife dying my sense of reality got obliterated. I have other things on my kitchen-wall to remind me I’m still in the real world. “Pretty girl” is also very pleasant to look at. It’s her smile.