Black Friday

1293 Words6 Pages
Old Mans Time She enters my view, and my pace quickens. Her long black hair is probably not all her own, but who cares. Her head is tilted to the side, which makes me wonder if she slept wrong. Her jeans are perfect, just barely able to contain her equally perfect butt. Her sleeves are rolled up like that character from One Day at a Time, Snyder I think his name was. Her flip flops open and close with each step. I wonder how she can walk so fast in that get up. She must be a track star. I’m out of breath and barely keeping up with her. I’m determined to be strategically behind her when we reach the door. Like a marathon runner who can see the finish line, I force my legs to push on. We reach the door, and I'm right behind her. It would be perfect, except I’m out of breath, and can’t talk. She holds the door open and I wheeze out a thank you. I watch her walk out of my view. Story of my life, broads walking out on me. Oh well, she was too young anyway. I need someone more my speed, which at the current moment is somewhere between slow and still. Lately I haven’t had luck with the older women either. These old dames want Katherine Hepburn treatment, a hard thing to do on a social security check. I’m no Humphrey Bogart, but I look pretty good for my age, 71 my next birthday. My teeth are all my own, and I still have more hair on my head then in my ears and nose. My dress is relatively trendy; there’s no plaid in my closet. I don’t usually have trouble finding dates. First dates go well, I have about a 90% conversion rate for second dates, and that is where the problems begin. Holding a woman’s hand is nice enough, romantic even if you are into that kind of mushy stuff. I’m a gentleman and know to ho... ... middle of paper ... ... want to say.“ “If you’re going to stay out all night you should let me know so I don’t stay up worrying.” I try to interject, which is a mistake. “That was my fault. She fell asleep and I should have called you.” “I'm not talking to you.” Insulted in my own home. This is a special kind of feeling like sand down your swimming trucks. The testosterone level is beginning to rise. Lucky for him I never took the little blue pill last night or else I’d have all sorts of pint up rage. Mara senses that it’s best if they leave. “Thank you for a wonderful night Bernie. I’ll call you later.” We hug and I am tempted to kiss her like the French do, just to irritate junior, but I won't disrespect my lady like that. I kiss her cheek and walk her to the door. He lets her leave first and then stares at me as he walks out the door. “Kids.” The story of my life.

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