We went out to eat this morning, just Kerry, the girls, and me. We picked a cute little breakfast restaurant that we had heard good things about.
It took about fifteen minutes to get a table, apparently people like to eat out on Saturday mornings; who knew? So by the time we were seated, we had already perused the menu and we ordered right away. Our waiter was a friendly, chatty type with an emo haircut. Usually when they are really friendly and joke around with us, I think they are aiming for a good tip. Well, I know they are trying to get a good tip. I've done my time waitressing; I know what I know.
He checked on us a lot. He asked how the food looked, then came back to find out how it tasted. He asked if we needed refills three or four times. Usually I can't find the waiter when I need him, especially when the restaurant is packed. Katie and Emily had each gotten a lemonade (for breakfast!) and refills weren't free so I had limited them to one each. When the waiter asked if they wanted more, I told him they didn't need any more sugar and they would just stick to water. He came back and chatted about how they didn't even have heating lamps in the kitchen because all the food had to be served fresh off the stove. He talked about the coffee. He brought extra napkins. I thought he was really nice but it was getting difficult to eat while he was talking. I didn't want to be rude, but my food was getting cold.
But then, the waiter started telling us about his biceps. Which goes a little beyond friendly banter if you ask me. He told us how he'd never worked out a day in his life but he had really good biceps because the trays he had to carry out were really heavy. When he mentioned biceps, Kerry and I were on to him. He wasn't telling us about his biceps (which none of us could see by the way - especially with my hunky husband with his huge biceps sitting right there for comparison) to get a bigger tip, he was trying to impress my daughter.
Thankfully she was oblivious. She was far more interested in her french toast than in his puny biceps. She totally didn't catch on until Kerry and I were talking about it on the way home. "What??" she gasped. "I missed it!"
We pointed out that even after we had said no refills, he had handed her a to-go cup with another lemonade in it as were leaving. He didn't bring Katie one. Just Emily. Kerry told her to check and see if he'd written his phone number on it.
So. The day has arrived. Boys are hitting on my daughter. In front of me. More importantly, in front of her rather intimidating father. That took some guts. Some emo-haired, puny-bicep guts.
But, not to worry, we have a plan.
We feel that if Kerry shoots just one, word will get out and we won't have to worry about any others.