Whistling With Floyd

I first met him when I was only sixty-five. I was in the saloon carrying a flyswatter when he slumped in. He was wearing a burgundy maxi skirt, which caught my attention right away. It really accentuated his finger, but I pretended not to notice.

I was about to set the flyswatter down when he galumphed beside me. I guess he startled me, and I clumsily dropped the flyswatter right by his feet. We both bent over to pick it up. It was one of those awkward moments, and we both began to whistle.

After stumbling apologies, he asked me to go to the deli for a Tom and Jerry. I accepted, and our relationship took off from there. We didn't even know each other's names yet.

At the deli, I learned that his name was Floyd, and that he was a mechanic. This was fascinating to me, coming from my career as a disk jockey.

I guess it was love at first whistle. Some might say we had horseshoes in our eyes, but we felt we were perfect for each other. He was eleven years younger than I, but the age difference didn't matter to us. Even today, we are still whistling for each other.