Show Me Your Magic

Carrie Underwood is playing on my radio this morning, “Your Sexy Eyes” and my mind is wandering.  Carrie Underwood, an Oklahoma girl by the way, is yummy.  I look upon her and I see Margo, but there will be more of that later, I digress.  Today’s offering is a little long in the tooth, but I am sure you will find it engaging or at least I hope you do.


Occasionally, in the early morning shank of the day, I will allow my mind to drift off to more favorable times in my life.  A period of my life for the most part (as I remember it) was carefree and pleasurable.  (Taking into consideration that the mind will trick you, those old days, that we perceive now, that were so good, weren’t actually all that great)

A time now long gone but fondly remembered.

Checking most of my cares and concerns at the door, I sometimes allow a part of me to run casually thru the start of my day and a good warm cup of coffee.  At times I will make a trip thru the Rockies on my old Harley, the wind in my face, and the pipes wracking off the walls of the deep cuts in the rock alongside the highway.  I will sit on a mountain pass in Wyoming and watch a UP Coal Train or Freight wind down thru the valley on its way to Nebraska.

From time to time I will think of that girl.  There is always that one girl in every-man’s life.

For most intents and purposes, I am the hopeless romantic,  a dreamer of unprecedented scope and depth.  Sometimes a little bit socially dysfunctional.  But being blessed at an early age with an overactive imagination, has also proven to been helpful.  I am quite adept at remembering those times when everything seemed so bountiful and it was there for the taking.  The days where the fruit of life, was ripe and ready, within my reach on the first limbs of the tree.

On some mornings I can swing the pendulum of my emotions in either direction.  This morning it is romance.  Those times when your heart leaned towards issues of affection instead of conservative worry and concern for the upside down stress filled world we all live in.

Thinking of those mornings when you looked at Margo with a longing in your heart, even though you knew that she was poisoned fruit on the tree.  Margo was the girl at the operations desk, a treat I often yearned for, but often I thought clearly was out of my reach.  Margo was a prize, she was in all respects, worthy of attention.

When you looked at her and your heart seemed to stop as if for a brief moment in time or actually skipped a beat.  Which today, much later in time would be of great concern to many of us.  Remembering that period that was a little of the good and a little of the bad.  Working day in and out, to make a living and not seeing much of a rainbow at the end.

That is about the way it was.

Each day, after receiving our assignments, we would trot out the door and go about our day.  We had to walk by Margo on the way out, she would be sitting there at the operations desk, all prim and proper, looking as if she were a fresh picked hot-house flower.  On some mornings, the fragrance that was her, would permeate the room, a refreshing pleasant change of pace.

She would sit there at the operations desk, in just a plain chiffon sort of summer dress, no bra, her nipples straining against the sheer fabric. Occasionally, now and then, a loose buttoned shirt and some well worn Levi’s.  Hand picked (all by design) I am sure, to drive a man crazy or slowly out of his mind.

Looking back on it, in a way it was kind of comical in some respects.

Watching each working hand approach the desk, some nodding their head on the way out in recognition of her presence.  From time to time a few, here and there, would stop to linger and “work their magic on her” try their line, put their hook in the water.

Married or single, it made no difference, the male of the species much like a honey worker bee, would hover around her desk and she would hold court.  I often wondered if she appreciated or scorned the unwanted advances, and I guess I will never know?

So each day, she would watch, listen and observe the practice or ritual.  In a way a for the most part, losing proposition for the average working hand.  Giving it their best, their all … Only to find that all they got in the end, was a nod of her head, or a gentle sort of smile or giggle and not much more than that.

In those days, now long past, and a long way down the proverbial path, I have to admit, “I did not have much of a line for Margo.”  Just was not all that smooth, a player as the younger generation would describe it, was not to be found in my make up in any shape form or manner.  The best I could muster up as I remember was “How you doin?” and a brief smile.

Pretty lame, certainly not sexy.

On some days, I would stop and watch the testosterone circus unfold, and I would arrange my orders over at the small desk in the corner, sip on a small white styrofoam cup of coffee, stirred with a plastic spoon and loaded with way too much sugar.  And Margo would catch me, snatching a quick glance her way, checking her out and she would smile.  Those were the times when I would think about some day, maybe, just maybe, she would lean over, give me a brief peek down her loosely buttoned blouse and then gently place one a salty kiss on my lips.

(Yeah I know, kind of sad, but please remember this is MY story)

Then one day, for no apparent reason that I can now remember, I found myself standing at the order desk, end of the day, arranging my orders and fixing to turn in the paperwork and preparing to call it quits.  Quite by surprise, all of a sudden, really don’t know how it transpired or came into being, I found myself in a position to make a move.

Now please remember Dear Reader, “I don’t have a LOT of moves” maybe one or two, and they are rusty and archaic by today’s standards.

Strangely I found myself diving in, like a monkey with a football, I was clumsily working MY magic on her.  Taking in the expanse of her big green eyes and leaning over a little bit, hoping to catch her scent.  I found myself fishing in unfamiliar waters.  So mustering up a little courage from somewhere deep inside, I said, “You hungry girl?”  At the same time thinking to myself “she is way out of your league chump, she won’t give you the time of day.”

And low and behold, she smiled back and said, “Why?  What do you have in mind?”

This is the part we were talking about, the part where you feel your heart skip a little bit, you feel your knees weaken, all of a sudden, it is a lot hotter in the room.  The door to her world opens just a little bit, so I take the shot.  “Oh, I was just thinking.  Maybe the Steakhouse, baked potato, glass of wine, a little conversation?” which I was hoping would sound interesting and still non-threatening.

She mulls it over in her mind a little bit and then says, “No strings, just dinner and some talk?” and I nod my head and say, “Sure.”  She replies, “How about 4:30PM-5:00PM, that okay with you?”


“Sure” and we quickly iron out the details.  I beat a quick retreat to my digs, a ratty little apartment some two miles away as the crow flies,  jump in the shower, do my thing … y’know, wash the stinky parts, throw on some foo-foo water, fresh shirt and head on down to the restaurant.

Dinner was nice, nothing extraordinary or rare, just a good sumptuous meal, Rib-Eye, glass of red wine and some talk.  Afterwards, I inquire as to desert, would she like some?  Which she graciously declines.  Paying the tab and dropping the tip on the table I escort her out of the restaurant.  In the dim light of the day, sunset, I walk her to her car, squeeze her hand and say, “That was nice.  Let’s do it again.”

Opening the car door, I smile and bid her good-night.

A few weeks pass, another page on the calendar falls.  Back to work, she is there as always, I smile, she nods her head, out the door and it is time to make a living.  This goes on for a week or two, the routine of the morning, the ritual, the process with which we all have to endure, in order to make our mark in this world.

Then one afternoon, I am walking by her desk, end of the day.

She calls out my name, “Hey Don, what are you up to?” and I reply, “Paying the rent girl, paying the rent.”  She laughs and then throws her head back and allows her hair do that thing that she makes it do.  I think to myself …. “That is nice.”

Then she smiles and starts to work HER magic on ME.  “You hungry sport?” and I say, “You bet, same thing, same place, as before?”  She nods her head in agreement.  I start to walk away and I again hear the soft voice call out my name, “Hey Don?”  Slowly turning around I turn back and look at her.

She leans over the counter, her beauty and scent fill my universe, ever so slowly she checks the room, insuring that it is just the two of us, and then she says …. “This time, after dinner … if you want to … We can go somewhere private like the Ramada on the South-side and I will be your desert.”  That day, my eyes were opened a little bit and in the gentle haze I found:  “Life is often good and you don’t need a lot of moves to make it all work.”

Have a great weekend, find that special someone in your life and show them your magic.



She Was My Lady


2 thoughts on “Show Me Your Magic

  1. That’s the good thing about memories. You can live them over and over again.
    When I was a kid, I called them HAPPY DREAMS!


    Have a good weekend there pard.



  2. What an exceptional young lady… and yes, those are the most wonderful memories. You never forget. Nice post.
    Smart money would say that she gave me more than I gave her. Yes, an exceptional lady ……



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