A girl named ***
—“It is you after all,” I said to *** in our supermarket, after our eyes met and she walked toward me.
“I wasn’t sure it was you,” I said; but your eyes told me. I recognize the eyes.”
I was walking into the store, and she was walking out. We were all wearing masks per COVID-19.
Other things told me also. She’s a skinny little thing, and looks rather haggard. Her hair is also frizzy and wild.
But mainly it was her eyes, overly made up with too much mascara. No matter, I know her, and she knows me. We began talking.
Five years ago I woulda avoided her completely and walked right into the store.
But things are no longer as they were. 70 years late I discover people love talking. I’ve had so much success striking up conversations I’m gonna wait.
Our eyes met, and here she comes. “Yada-yada-yada-yada-yada!”
The equivalent of “happy to see ya;” which I didn't say, but “I recognize you, and you recognize me, so let’s talk!”
“How’s your buddy?” She asked.
“GONE!” I said.
“*** died?” she gasped.
“I thought you were talking about my dog,” I exclaimed.
Years ago I was eating out with***, a fellow widower; and he knew ***, which is how I came to know ***.
“I had to put my dog down over two months ago, and I’m still devastated.”
“I could get another dog myself,” she said; “but I don’t want the heartbreak.”
“Yada-yada-yada-yada-yada!”
I’m not used to this. I been avoiding people since age 5, when hyper-zealots convinced me no-one would wanna talk to me.
Talking to anyone, especially women, was flirting. Talking to women was evil and disgusting.
Now, well into my 70s, I find that was WRONG!
People love talking, especially women. They run to my side to begin talking to me.
Give ‘em an ear, and they won’t stop.
I find myself trying to give them an out, thinking they don’t wanna talk to me.
That’s my childhood interrupting, and it’s WRONG!
Usually the one ending conversations is ME. “Groceries await,” or “I’d like to eat my breakfast-cereal before 4 PM.”
So “groceries await” with ***.
Maybe someday I’ll try the following: “Modest proposal here. That we share dinner so we can talk. Separate checks if you wish. You come in your car, and I in mine.
We talk and talk and talk and talk. Then we both go home to our separate abodes.
We’re worlds apart, but I know you, and you know me. So we can talk.
Let’s talk!”
“I wasn’t sure it was you,” I said; but your eyes told me. I recognize the eyes.”
I was walking into the store, and she was walking out. We were all wearing masks per COVID-19.
Other things told me also. She’s a skinny little thing, and looks rather haggard. Her hair is also frizzy and wild.
But mainly it was her eyes, overly made up with too much mascara. No matter, I know her, and she knows me. We began talking.
Five years ago I woulda avoided her completely and walked right into the store.
But things are no longer as they were. 70 years late I discover people love talking. I’ve had so much success striking up conversations I’m gonna wait.
Our eyes met, and here she comes. “Yada-yada-yada-yada-yada!”
The equivalent of “happy to see ya;” which I didn't say, but “I recognize you, and you recognize me, so let’s talk!”
“How’s your buddy?” She asked.
“GONE!” I said.
“*** died?” she gasped.
“I thought you were talking about my dog,” I exclaimed.
Years ago I was eating out with***, a fellow widower; and he knew ***, which is how I came to know ***.
“I had to put my dog down over two months ago, and I’m still devastated.”
“I could get another dog myself,” she said; “but I don’t want the heartbreak.”
“Yada-yada-yada-yada-yada!”
I’m not used to this. I been avoiding people since age 5, when hyper-zealots convinced me no-one would wanna talk to me.
Talking to anyone, especially women, was flirting. Talking to women was evil and disgusting.
Now, well into my 70s, I find that was WRONG!
People love talking, especially women. They run to my side to begin talking to me.
Give ‘em an ear, and they won’t stop.
I find myself trying to give them an out, thinking they don’t wanna talk to me.
That’s my childhood interrupting, and it’s WRONG!
Usually the one ending conversations is ME. “Groceries await,” or “I’d like to eat my breakfast-cereal before 4 PM.”
So “groceries await” with ***.
Maybe someday I’ll try the following: “Modest proposal here. That we share dinner so we can talk. Separate checks if you wish. You come in your car, and I in mine.
We talk and talk and talk and talk. Then we both go home to our separate abodes.
We’re worlds apart, but I know you, and you know me. So we can talk.
Let’s talk!”
Labels: Relations with the opposite sex
posted by BobbaLew at 9:33 AM
2 Comments:
Better late than never!!
Face it, Bob, You're a "chick magnet"!
Google up "how to be a chick magnet" - but of course, you're there already!
"To be a chick magnet, you need to constantly show respect to the women and girls around you. Respect speaks volumes. Women who know you respect them will want to be around you. Show respect to the girls and women around you."
Post a Comment
<< Home