Major triumph

—“How do I say this?” I said to my aquacise-instructor, warning her in advance I might say something hurtful.
(She’s a-burnin’ me up with them eyes; very intense.)
“**** ********* and I were talking about you this morning: how you and I seem to be at loggerheads.
‘Not mad at you,’ you said.
To which I say ‘prove it.’ You’re more curt with me, and more abrupt.”
“Don’t forget,” **** said. “If you’re standoffish with her, she’ll be standoffish with you.
The way she reacts to you is a reflection.”
“Precisely,” I thought to myself. “Score one for ******!”
Not long ago I said the same thing to my lifeguard friend at that swimming pool.
“If I’m the least bit tentative, or apprehensive, or scared, you’ll pick that up as my avoiding you.”
“If I project joy at meeting you, you’ll probably also be happy to meet me.
“We project to each other, so if I’m negatory, I’ll get what I perceive as standoffishness.”
“My entire perception of women is distorted. I told that to ***** once.”
“By your childhood?” that aquacise-instructor said.
“Your mother, and also your father?” which tells me she’d been thinking about it.
“And also my hyper-religious Sunday-School superintendent neighbor whose husband was probably fooling around.
The one who convinced me all males, including me at age-5, were scum.
Had my parents come to my defense, that neighbor woulda crashed in flames.
But they heartily AGREED! I was unable to worship my holier-than-thou father, so was therefore rebellious.
That’s a wonderful way to mark a little boy for life.”
“I'm glad you’re learning,” she said.
“Seventy years late!” I exclaimed.
Enter another of my “friends who happen to be female.”
I’ll slightly reword what she once told me:
“Just because a lady cares about you, doesn’t mean she’s interested in you.”
I substituted “cares about” in place of “smiles at.”
I tapped my aquacise-instructor on her arm as I walked out.
That spooked her, but she quickly realized I was expressing my own concern about her.
Score one for **********!
Later I hiked around that swimming-pool to say a few words to my second lifeguard friend.
“I just wanted to tell you about the pitched-battle that occurred in my head when I found that perfect sympathy card.
Here I am in Mighty Weggers, and I find this fabulous sympathy card.
On one side of my head were the forces of EVIL, Satan, represented by you.”
“Oh no ya don’t!” my lifeguard friend wailed.
“Don’t forget,” I told my lifeguard friend. “You were the one who wanted me to buy that card, so to the zealots you were a tool of Satan.
‘If you give that card to *****,’ you told me; ‘you’ll make her very happy.’
On the other side,” I told my friend; “were the sanctimonious, overly judgmental hyper-zealots, the Bible-beaters.
‘If you give that card to *****,’ they’d bellow; ‘she’ll think you’re hitting on her.’”
“She won’t!” My friend exclaimed. “It made her very happy.”
“Thankfully,” I told my friend; “I already cultivated many more female friendships then I ever expected. Including you. So I don’t pay attention to the those hyper-zealots anymore.
So I bought the card, and gave it to *****.”
“And made her very happy,” my friend told me.
“Probably for two reasons,” I said:
“—1) I told her I cared about her, and
—2) I successfully beat back the Bible-thumpers.”
“Exactly,” my second lifeguard friend said.“
Go to Hell, Bobby! Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Go DIRECTLY to Hell!”
Eye-contact with my second lifeguard friend is zilch.
But that’s okay because she’s my best pool-talker.
Eye-contact with my first lifeguard friend is occasional, and she’s also not an easy smiler. When I get either it’s smashing.
That first lifeguard friend is outta town, and hopefully I’ll regal her with that Satan story. I bet I get a chuckle, and I like getting that chuckle.
That aquacise-instructor is an easy smiler, and heavy with the eye-contact, but she’s also the one I made all the mistakes with.
I sure am glad I bought that card — I really like making ***** happy.
“I admit it’s partly sexual: she’s a girl, and I’m a guy. (“GASP!”)
More important is that as a little boy I was convinced that never in a million years would I make a female happy.
So when I do, it’s immensely thrilling. I love making ***** happy, probably more than I should.
Telling a girl (“GASP!”) I care about her is a major triumph.