Not Flirting With the Waiter

At my grandma age, most young men look like boys, and no matter how good-looking, they don’t stir a ruffle in my mind. There are exceptions. My husband and I were eating in a good Italian restaurant right outside of Yellowstone Park with a busy Friday night crowd. Our waiter had blond good looks, both hair and beard on the scruffy side with just the right amount of scruff; and being from South Africa, the English accent to give him an even greater edge. He was charming as well, and treated us as if we might be interesting people rather than one more dull tourist couple.

As there were not a lot of choices in the small resort town, we returned to the restaurant the following Sunday, when business was much slower. We were in a different waiter’s section, but the blond one came over to greet us and spread more charm. Presumably, he wasn’t performing for a tip this time. The entire staff was young, and as they weren’t that busy, I watched the interactions. The blond one was a talented flirt with all the pretty young women working there. He invariably moved into their personal space whenever he spoke to them, as if he had a special relationship with each of them. Most of the young women became transparently flustered by his attention, but in a seemingly pleasant way.

As he didn’t have that much to do in his own section, the blond one visited our table as much as our own waiter did. He wasn’t flirting with me, but after watching him operate, I became much too aware of his presence. Some grandma types love flirting with the waiter as they can’t be taken seriously and therefore have a free pass to say whatever comes to mind. Or maybe it’s just a lifelong extrovert thing with them, age not being a factor. I, on the other hand, was with great effort very consciously not flirting with the young waiter.