I enjoy my shopping experience at my local Food-4-Less, which is
sometimes like a whirl through a Sunday Walmart. I’m fascinated with
the caliber of folks I run across there, both at Food-4-Less and at
Walmart. (I hardly never ever go to Walmart anymore; the nearest
location is too far a drive for this old codger.) Nowadays, my Walmart experiences are strictly those of an online shopping nature.

So I was saying, here I am at Food-4-Less, taking a gander at the sale
hams over in the center isle display of the meat section. Center isle:
the one I always manage to crash my cart into, which always pisses me
off. I'm taking inventory of hams, and exchanging a few pleasantries
with a Mexican woman whose figure mocks an overstuffed burrito. She
works there.

Looking aimlessly around, I spy a stunning looking girl wearing the
traditional hijab, and she’s headed in my direction. She’s probably a Somalian immigrant, a recent addition to our surplus population here at
home. She looks to be a shy twenty-two or thereabouts, with perfectly
smooth light-coffee skin, whose color deepens only slightly around her
sable eyes and slim Cupid ’s bow lips. Basically, she’s got a
standalone face, the kind makeup won’t possibly improve. Face: oblong,
like a northern European. A high forehead. Picture of perfection. A
Nubian Mona Lisa?

When she looks my way I smile a little timidly--and she smiles back. I
fell a little lightheaded. When she draws up beside me, I beget some
casual comments regards the ham sale. Then her ambience hits me full
force. Her voice is soft and mild and most pleasant. Polite as a
princess, which she could have been. She introduces herself as Kaaha.
The rest of her I appraise in bits and pieces as modest decorum permits.
She shows off a general lean youthfulness that even beneath the
cascade of her clothing is undeniable. I imagine her wearing one of
those big afros and a micro Minnie skirt, like back in the 60s. All
that beautiful, chocolate, naked skin.

Well, I soon run out of conversation, and now I’m feeling a little
nervous. "Hope you have a happy holiday, or what’s left of it" I say.
For a moment it seems like she’s almost disappointed. But she only smiles.

I watch her walk off, feeling a little like the fly fisherman who’d lost
the prize winning Tahoe tiger after a long fight. But, like I said
before, young girls don’t even see us old guys really. Not like they
used to thirty or forty years ago. Nowadays we’re, like, almost
invisible to them in our venerable antiquity.


*I often lose my sense of direction when in the presence of
extraordinarily beautiful women. They always tend to throw me off
balance, like a feeling of not knowing where I am going. Really,
though, in the final assay, it’s all about knowing that a young African princess like Kaaha would surely have me calling my doctor regularly,
for an erection lasting more than four hours. Bye.

;-)

--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
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