Pots Are Made For Throwing
And Other Lessons From Questionable Sources

Douglas Byrne

"A re you finished with your plate?" the waiter asked. Her reply was audibly inconclusive, and the waiter being admirably so disposed, simply took her plate and refused further eye contact.

She didn't appear to care either, and the two went on like this for another 15 minutes, thick as thieves. Her empty coffee was still with her and she occasionally drained the last drop until the little stain would not move from the bottom even when upended and tapped. Our most dearly loved waiter never budged.

She left money without consulting the bill and made her way up the Avenue as the waiter watched her skinny bottom sway up the street. This was not a waitron, after all. Careful checking with past experience drew from him an audible sigh of respect before his mood was fouled with some fool (as I'm certain our waiter termed it) called out for more refined sappy goo for his already smothered fried egg bread and expansive stomach.

At this point is seems appropriate (or at the least pleasantly indulgent) to say something slightly lecherous about bottoms, such as, "those soft not too too skinny bottoms in tights always made me shiver ever so slightly."

I am convinced that she very much liked her bottom too. And this may have been the entire problem with, and I apologize in advance for saying it, but that girl. I mean fine, yes, go for it, check your lip smudge every fifteen minutes, but draw the line when you can't take your eyes off the delicate curve of your own backside every time you pass any reflective surface at all. Draw the goddamn line.

Our cheerless waiter has a problem. He knows she made eyes at him all the way through her bland lemon poppy muffin and coffee, but he is at work, you dig? Our friend recommends wisdom in reverie, especially when standing in a crowded room while wearing a mint green apron recalling a stuttering madman.

He was somewhat scandalously imagining her paltry tangerine underwear when a certain dear patron, hungry for waiter knows not what, grabbed his arm and pulled his mind away from a really cracking pair of tangerine skivies.

Reverie is funny. You can do it fast.

First published: February 2001
comments: knobs@iceflow.com