"That's a very flirtatious waitress," pointed out James Box, as she turned and sashayed away from us, having taken my order for a salad. I have to admit that I hadn't noticed, having been lost in her eyes for a while, how flirtatious she had actually been. Now that James was pointing it out, it did seem obvious enough to be a bit silly. She took orders leaning closely inwards, smiled a lot - a little too much than is natural, even for a waitress - and seemed genuinely pleased to be there.
Fortunately this waitress was kind of cute - something James didn't need to point out to me. It was a nice unforced smile. She has a cute body, a pretty face, and her hair was in a long plait (something I've always found attractive), which she had draped over one shoulder, so that it showed from the front view, not the back. Quite a nice trick, as her hair was good too - a mix between blonde and brown (as opposed to just blonde-ish-brown-ish). An overall look reminiscent of @teasingblonde, but shorter.
"I'm single," I pointed out to James, after ordering something else specifically so I could have her lean in again. "You're not, so hands off."
"She's flirting," he responded, but she's flirting with all of us."
"Well," I reasoned, "if you're going to flirt with a large crowd of people, we're probably the best crowd to do so with." I spread my arms and indicated the rest of the table, on which the usual bisexual polyamorous crowd of the monthly CCK Social had congregated.
She came back and asked if it was the English Breakfast tea that I wanted. I said yes, and she provided me with it.
"That's lovely," I said, "thanks." And I winked.
It took me a while to realised I'd just winked at a waitress. That's just wrong on so many different levels it's actually pointless to try and calculate them. H, who is one of my best friends, arrived later on, and I wouldn't even dare wink at her. Even in the slightly tiddly state she joined us in. Whether or not she noticed, I don't know. But I did feel jaded enough to tweet it.
I was distracted later on by Maxine's painful discovery that "later" is not the safeword, but nevertheless, I did keep going back to the occasional glance at the waitress, even once risking a quick look at her derrière on my way to the toilet. And towards the evening, I said those magical words:
"Can I have my bill please?"
She wiggled over with the bill. I extracted a £20 note, which about covered the £16 or so that the bill came to.
"I'll just go and get the change," she said.
"Oh, no. Keep all the change, I insist," I heard myself saying, my halo spinning around emitting gold sparks.
She blinked once or twice, thanked me profusely (and which point I said something like, "oh it's okay," even though what I actually wanted to do was touch her hair), and disappeared, at which point I snapped out of whatever réverie I was in. James was grinning.
It's a good thing I'd drunk the English Breakfast tea she'd brought over earlier. If it had been anywhere near me, it woud have gone everywhere, considering the amount of force with which I hit my head repeatedly against the table.
Still, it's always good to have ambition.