Friendly

As some of you know, my in-laws are in town and we're lucky to have them staying with us. Tonight, an old friend of theirs drove down from the LaCrosse area for a visit. Dinnertime arrived and we ordered pizza from the little pizza shop in the VERY little town I live near.

It's an adorable place, sharing space with the 2011 version of a general store. There's a mini supermarket (two cans of tomato soup, two cans of chicken noodle, two cans of cream of mushroom ... you get the idea), an ice cream counter, coolers for pop and beer and fresh baked goods. I paid for my pies and pushed my way out the door to my car with one yummy-smelling disc balanced in each palms-up hand.

And then I had a conundrum. How was I going to open my car door with no free hand? Luckily for me, there was a handsome young man sitting in a golf cart nearby, waiting for his friends. He was general-issue, small town Wisconsin ... looked like he just got off from work at a local farm. Jeans, cut off Tshirt, well-worn baseball cap. Tanned and muscled.

I looked over at him, laughed and said, "Would you do me a favor and open my car door?"

"Sure," he smiled and jumped up to come help me.

Then it occurred to me ... my car was locked and my keys were in the front pocket of my shorts. My shorts are of the loose-ish variety.

And I considered my options.

"Nevermind," I said as I explained where my keys were. "I'm friendly. But not quite that friendly." I giggled as I put one pizza down on the hood of the car. The kid laughed and sat back down.

I'm not sure I would have even asked him for help as the old me. I know I wouldn't have made a joke about his hands in my pants. And I know that I wouldn't have seriously considered allowing him to go get those keys because I didn't own a pair of shorts or pants loose enough where he was unlikely to actually cause any damage in the effort.

I'm pretty sure I made the right choice.