Pretty in Pink

Lorraine M. Gregoire

"You're nuts. I can't walk that far. No way!" I was mad at my girlfriend. Some guy she met at seniors had invited her to a "mall-walkers" group.

"I won't go alone. Please, please... pretty please" It bugs me when she's sucky. I can never say no. "I've been so lonely since Walter died..." Low blow. That forlorn widow's lament always gets me.

Sheesh. It's just two years for her. My John's been gone ten and I'm not out chasing men up and down the malls like a moose in heat.

So, here we are. Dumb and dumber in sneakers and jogging suits. The meeting place is some donut shop.

"Oh look, there's the guy! Yoo-hoo!" My girlfriend's acting cuckoo. This is embarrassing. Forty gray heads turn and stare.

"We're ready to streetwalk with you'all." Man, she's gushing and giggling. Not very sad lonely widow-like of her.

Bah! Women outnumber the men. Smiling, flirty old broads. And why are the girls all pudgy and these walkie-talkie guys all skinny?

Probably here looking for someone to cook for them. Pompous peacocks.

"Here's your name badges and a mall discount card---get the senior's discount every day. Welcome, welcome..."

My girlfriend is hanging on this silver-tongued creep's every word---but he keeps looking over at me. Now he's SMILING at me!

Shoot. I'm smiling back. Should've worn my pink sweats---I look best in pink. Oh dear, he looks a bit like my John... Not at all like her Walter.

I wonder if he likes home cooking...

Copyright ©2001 Lorraine M. Gregoire. All Rights Reserved.

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May, 2001 Issue #61

256 Words

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