I’m Not After Your Husband

I speak to everyone I see and for those who live alone you are chuckling because you do the same.  I frequently find myself forced to talk to men which in some ways I disdain but they approach me.

For example, when speaking to the peanut butter jar at Publix a man came behind me and answered my question regarding the sugar content of the peanut butter. We had an amusing discussion and by the end of the conversation he gave me the idea to make my own peanut butter which I now do.

The beauty of our short chat was he didn’t mention his wife 3 seconds into the conversation. The conversation could have been, too much sugar is in peanut I believe that as well. Then, I’m married 36 years to my childhood sweetheart and we have two phenomenal children one is a rocket scientist and the other curing cancer.

Indubitably, this is how the conversation usually occurs.  Having only discussed peanut butter filled me with joy as I didn’t want to hear about his wife and I am not interested in you beyond peanut butter.  I merely want to talk to someone briefly and move on.

It becomes even worse when the duo is together. When this arises I only look and talk to the wife.  I have learned my lesson while traveling as the single supplement chick.  Guess I am thought of as jail bait.

In one of my trips the man told me he had worked in the same town where I formerly lived. While I tried to engage the wife in the conversation she pretended to read a pamphlet.  Later I realized she was probably fuming as for the remainder of the trip she gave me daggers. It was ugly each time the man came in my general area so I quickly moved or excused myself to keep a 50-yard distance.

So, what can you learn from this? When the male counterpart of the couple talks feign laryngitis, or speak of your non-existent husband and always wear a wedding ring on the trip.

The Sexy Shopper

While at Dollar Tree I met a lovely young woman to chat with.  We shared the same ideals of saving money and even purchased similar items.  I was in sync with a millennium.  She was gorgeous, stick thin in what we formerly called hot pants and adorned with the gams of Betty Grable.  For those millenniums who don’t know Betty Grable try google with her name or the term pin-up girl.  (Finally, something a millennium doesn’t know!)

While shopping I also encountered an older male shopper.  He was of the curmudgeon type.  In my attempt to acknowledge him I offered my chirpy Florida hello and in response received a grunt.  Rather than being dismayed at the grunt I shrugged it off to not enough sun.  Perhaps he too is Vitamin D deficient?

At the checkout, I noticed the curmudgeon was checking out in front of the gorgeous millennium.  He was chatting her up, as they say in England and I was okay with this.  Since I was behind her she turned and smiled acknowledging me and we shared a few words.  Once our check out was completed simultaneously we all appeared at the exit.  The curmudgeon opened the door for the millennium and as he did let the door shut in my face.

This man was obviously not a southern gentleman.

Untrained Men

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I am not a fan of men. In fact whenever I write the word my fingers always seem to write mean rather than men. There it goes again. Though not a lesbian I find these creatures more challenging than I want to put up with. The horse has left the stable on this or whatever saying you can come up with but you get my drift.

Also, at 63 the “good ones,” are all taken or so they say. I doubt if there ever were any. Those that are available are unhealthy, fat, bald, ugly, or once you speak with them, tainted. Ignorance on politics or climate change is not what I want to hear even though it’s a free meal. Who wants to waste what time you have left? I’d rather pay myself and read a book as I wait for service.

At my living establishment there is a new man. I have never met him and don’t want to. We share toilet facilities. There are locks so I am safe but one thing is annoying and here it is:

Who wants to fall into the toilet? Believe me I have, and it’s painful. I don’t want to do it again, and this is rude. Since I have 30 days left living here I don’t want to make a “stink,” (no pun intended), so here is the resolution:

It’s Kathleen, and if you don’t like what I say it’s still Kathleen.