You would think at 93 I would be impervious to womanly wiles, but suddenly I became aware of the power of a well-timed pout.
It began with book pouts. Just a faint tremble of the lower lip. We really need this book for the library. Before I knew it, a copy came from Uncle Amazon. Buy-with-one-click is deadly.
With Easter looming, morning talk drifted to double-smoked ham (no water). My phone automatically punched up Stokkie Meats’ We’ll pick up the ham Good Friday.
A while back, the Girl from 313 watched a film clip showing seniors playing Ping Pong. With the faintest lip-tremble she said, wouldn’t it be great if our Woodland Garden rec room had a folding table? Help me out, Northlanders. If anyone has a folding Ping Pong table gathering dust in the basement or garage, give me a call: 218-216-3237. Think how blest you’ll feel cheering up 60-plus oldsters, not to mention the guy from 301.
Then, the pout that out-powered my imagination. We watched the National Geographic sand hill crane migration film. A far-off, dreamy stare set in along with severe lip-trembling. Though my love for the Girl from 313 reaches far, it can’t quite carry us to North Platte, Nebraska. The ensuing sigh near broke my heart.
Old age and poverty bring circumstances that out reach even the most powerful pout thus my nightly suppers are not in jeopardy. In fact, they come right after Jeopardy and the news.
Old Grandpa Lloyd