Back in the day, I did alright with women. Not a world class swordsman, but I had my moments.
And I always had a clear understanding of what I had, and what I didn’t. Unlike college roommate Chuck, who merely had to show up to have women dropping into his arms, I had to use other means…mostly humor.
But that was then, my friends, over forty years ago.
Today, at 65, the only physical trait remaining is my smile…otherwise, too gray, too fat, teeth not originals, and difficulty with both eyesight and hearing.
Not a pretty picture.
That is why, when I work out at the Y, I usually work out alone.
But for one day, two weeks ago, that changed.
Working out on the leg press machine and a girl who I have never met before walks up and says “Hi”.
What could she possibly want? Does she need money for cabfare? Tax advice?
Impossible that she is interested in just talking to ME.
But that seems to be the case. Holy shit.
Very pretty girl, sweet smile..perhaps twenty five. Holy shit again.
We start talking about movies, books, food weaknesses (hers was curly fries, so I immediately nicknamed her Curly).
Felt a stirring…was the long packed away magic that I used to flash on a daily basis, in another place, at another time.
“Curly, you be sooo Irish”, I purred.
“How did you know?”
“All over your face, darlin'”
She glows. Man…..
So we continue for another twenty minutes, and she makes no attempt to leave.
But ends it does, because I, yes MEEEE, has got to leave for a fucking dentist appointment.
So what do I do?
Every day I return at the same time. Exactly ten am. And every day she is not there.
And this desperate attempt to reconnect with Curly Fries never happens. At least, thus far.
If it does happen, I have to tell myself to keep calm, and act like I am not a bit too eager.
That might be hard.
Since this pretty Irish lass is young enough to be my fucking granddaughter, I really do have to take a huge dose of reality meds.
These things just don’t happen.
But know this. For one day, in the life of an old coot, the magic was back.