How To Make Friends

Morning is the time to walk the beach on Sanibel.

I was mulling over who Saint Ybel was who was the eponym of this blessed speck of land, Sanibel = San Ybel = Saint Ybel. I applied a wikiquet to it (wikiquette = wiki + tourniquet, pronounced "wiki-ket"... send royalties to me). I discovered Ybel was a variant of Isybella, English Isabella.

So a chunky old bald guy walks past us.
It was not I. I was not looking into a mirror. I do not have a gentleman's gentleman following me around with the full length mirror from my armoire in a cart, so that I can look at myself walking upon the strand. It was another old bald guy.

So I sez, "Look how fast he is walking. That young buck! Look at those legs!"

She-who-must-be-obeyed ignored me.

So this struck my fancy, and I continued every day with a number of random crones and codgers that crossed our path. I would comment upon feminine charms, and say that various elder dolls must have been knockouts in their prime, and the guys were world class, too.

Finally, She-who-etc. bade me shut up at the same point of exhaustion... every day.

Time passes; the sun rises and sets; the moon is over Miami; pennies from heaven burn your feet as you walk at midday.

Funny thing; I find that when we go out to eat at various eateries, people look at us in a welcoming manner. People even wave, even though I am sure I have never had the pleasure of their acquaintance.
A vastly different experience from the usual thing when people fork their fingers and try to avert the malocchio when I enter an eating establishment. Nobody has offered to pick up our check yet, but it is only a matter of time.

I like it when people smile at me.

--