Hope you are well.
**
Yesterday's Ladies
Miss Medium
So, shoot me. I find women more interesting than men. Especially at the moment of a friendship's conception.
Pitched at Wally World yesterday.
Met a lady.
(Yeah, I know. You've heard this tune before, right?)
Medium height. Medium build. Medium aged. Medium looks.
Medium-ish brown hair. Medium-ish casual clothes.
The kind of person that is everywhere all the time.
Unnoticed.
Except by inept, inefficient, Death of a Salesman look-alike guys like me.
Said hello. Professionally.
She sparked in return.
Nothing flirtatious. Just that response I get from women who have brothers and/or a father they're close to. [See previous blogs for irrefutable proof of my theory.]
Hit on her. Professionally.
No sale.
She smiled and we laughed about how ridiculous it is of me to ask people to instantly fork over [insert dollar amount here] for a product/service that is not the kind of thing that incites people to instantly fork over [insert dollar amount here].
She didn't have any more money than me. And *I* certainly cannot afford to pay for what I am expected to induce others to purchase.
But I digress...
Told her I understood.
She understood that I understood.
She got a little closer and said one of her four children is autistic.
Told her I was sorry.
She told me her young, unmarried daughter just had a baby.
I kinda got happy at that news because kids are great.
She told me the infant has
(ready?)
spina bifida.
sheesh
Told her nobody has any clue how tough some people have it.
She told me that anybody who complains about his/her life should come and spend a week at her house.
Dear God,
Thank you for my good health. Thank you for the good health of all my children and grandchildren. Thank you ... that we all have roofs over our heads; for loved ones; the knowledge that You love us and will care for us; and that you will give us whatever it takes to survive -- even if that means such storms as that lady endures.
Amen
***
The Lady I Lied To (aka "Sneezy")
Taller than Miss Medium. Not extra large. Model-ish, but not too fancy.
Like, not at all like the woman -- pretty as can be -- that I saw lurking around a jewelry counter not too long ago.
**
Took a long time to learn, but I now know that men should *never* introduce themselves to women after 10 PM in bars; on street corners at any hour; and never EVER at jewelry counters. I mean, where's THAT gonna go?
sheesh
**
But I digress...
Hit on her. Professionally.
She said the magic words, "Oh, I already have one, thanks!"
Scrunched up my face and said, "Got a cold, dear?"
She tilted her head, scrunched up her lips, did that thing with her shoulders, squinted her eyes and said, "Yeah ... how could you tell?"
Hey. I'm not exactly Sherlock Dang Holmes. But when a woman's voice sounds like the character in The Princess Bride saying "MAWW-AGE. Maww-age ith whad bwings uth togeddah..." I figure she's got a cold.
Bingo!
(Didn't have the heart to tell her that her nose was running.)
**
Did you know that hostage negotiators are told to acknowledge the hostager's anger right away? Evidently, lots of wackos just need someone to understand that they're angry about some unresolved grievance ... and they want someone to help them resolve the issue.
**
She melted when I told her I was sorry she wasn't feeling well.
Not like a desperate woman who desperately needed another desperate person to bond in some relationship based upon mutual desperation.
(If you catch my drift.)
Pleasant words bring healing. That's all.
She was so responsive that I said, "You have brothers, right?"
BIG (snotty) nod. Followed by a big sniff.
Close to your dad?
BIGGER (snotty) nod. Followed by a bigger sniff.
She told me her dad called her about five times that day and how kind that was of him to care.
Asked her if she *really* didn't mind that he called so much.
Gave me that turn-your-head-to-the-side, scrunch-up-your-cheek, sideways, "are you a weirdo?" glance.
"Of course not!"
I embarked on a soliloquy about how healthy it is for women to be close to their fathers ... and to have brothers ... and to "get" that guys love by caring for the women in their lives ... and that the alternative creates (imho) twenty-something girls who marry Hugh Hefner.
Told her I have two daughters and how I love to call them ... just to hear their voices. And how I call them if I hear of tornado warnings or loonies on the loose or *whatever* I believe a father needs to protect his daughters from.
She said they must really love that about me.
Told her they did.
But God will forgive me for lying.
Right?
I mean, He will. Right?
How could I tell her the truth?
Openness and honesty might be the title of this blog, but you don't actually think that's the way I live, do you?
You big dope.
***
Recent Men
Guys can be just as nice as women.
OK. That's another lie.
Lemme begin again.
Guys ...
let's see
Guys ...
guys, uh...
Aw, hell. We're typically insensitive louts who believe farting is an art form.
Right?
Right!
And I know some GREAT guys.
***
The Manly Man
Went to a Christmas party.
Lovely girly hostess.
(Who used to work in the tire department at a really big retailer.)
House was decorated like a magazine.
OK. It was TOO decorated.
I mean, do you REALLY have to have every square inch slathered in holiday goop to remind yourself and others it's Christmas? I mean, leave room for a plate. Please. You should only go all Griswold outside, where the serious bling belongs.
The tree was Biltmore House beautiful.
Perfect upside-down toy-top shape. An angel (or something, I forget) at the tippy-top of the tree. (Probably took elaborate scaffolding or the accomplishment of the mystical art of hovering-in-space to place it there.)
A ribbon perfectly swirled from top to bottom, better than 'that obsessive lady who is famous for such things and who went to jail' could do.
Artsy, no-duplicate ornaments were perfectly placed on the tree.
The perfect amount of that sparkly stringy stuff.
The perfect amount of really cool blinking and non-blinking lights gave it the perfect glow.
Stood by it with the hostess' husband.
A manly man.
We were both looking at the tree.
Quietly.
Lost in our own reflections on the holy holiday.
Told him I thought the tree was beautiful.
He looked my way for about 1...2...3... moments.
Looked back at the tree.
Looked back at me for another 3-count.
Looks me in the eye
and says
(hoping I wasn't gonna burst into tears)
"It's fake."
(He silently added "stupid," I just know he did.)
Hence my predilection for conversing with the ladies.
***
The Dirty Dude
I did have a meaningful chat with a guy yesterday.
Told him about borrowing my friend's Jeep and going for a drive in the woods.
[Loving Dylan's song playing on Pandora: Kingsport Town. Here are the lyrics.]
My buddy and I sang, in two-part harmony, of the exquisite joys of getting a Jeep filthy.
We shared the intimacy of trying to get a Jeep stuck in the mud ... or better yet ... in the middle of a swift creek.
When we came to the awkward realization that we were bonding, we cussed, scratched our (individual) private parts, spit, and -- before we parted -- hit each other as hard as we could.
We promised we'd meet up again and beat the other at [insert manly sport or activity here] and drink until we puked.
Yup. Doesn't get any better than that.
With guys anyway.
