Saturday, 21 April 2007

Muriel and the amorous waiter

Here's an email my friend Muriel on the subject of a waiter:

Very oddly (and very goodly for my shattered self esteem), our favourite waiter, Dawid, (20, jet-black hair, ready smile, wiry shoulders, long strong legs, etc etc etc – the beauty of youth, you know), took it upon himself to shower unwarranted and, eventually, rather embarrassing attention down on my good self.

Since I was elegantly clad in tracksuit pants with a large hole in the bottom and a ratty jersey, no makeup and hair yanked fiercely off my face, I experienced this as something you might have a dream about. By the fourth time he’d crouched down at my side, a concerned hand on my thigh (and, once or twice, rather higher), whispering sweet nothings (‘So… will it be the ice cream and chocolate sauce… or can I tempt you to a wicked shot of Jameson’s plunged with abandon into a strong, rich black coffee…?’),

I was wondering who’d paid him. Nobody else seemed to notice, however, that anything odd was going on, and I assumed that I was having some sort of pleasant personal hallucination. Until, on our way home, P asked, ‘Mom, I don’t want to pry, but is there something going on between you and Dawid?’

I laughed in a cracked har-har-har way and said, ‘Don’t be silly, darling, he’s only a few years older than you,’ but that didn’t stop me having some seriously pornographic thoughts. Quite frankly, I don’t care who’s paying him, next time I see him I’m going to whip his trousers off and make him earn his money.

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