So, Friday night the girls and I are having dinner at a new Mexican place in the neighborhood. The place is packed and there is only one waiter/busboy. He is an adorable young man whose English seems to be limited, but whose big smile makes up for it.
It does not go unnoticed by the girls that this young man is really really cute, and they become very chatty and giggly and flirty every time he comes to our table. He blushes a bit, and seems to find reason to come past the table a million times, each time looking busy and important, cutting his eyes and smiling, clearly aware that the girls are watching him.
About halfway through the meal he clears a large table behind us and makes a big show of hoisting a huge tray up to his shoulder stacked high with dishes. He's smiling at the girls and they're smiling at him and everything is "working"....and just when he gets even with our table...... a bowl of salsa at the top of his tray turns over and salsa hits his face, his hair, runs down his neck, covers his shoulder.
The girls and I look away as fast as we can hoping against all hope he thinks we didn't see it. We hear an anguished groan as he disappears into the kitchen and once he returns in a clean shirt, he never looks our way again. The moment is so tender and so painful that the girls and I don't even speak of it. We finish off a great meal, if a little quieter, and leave the restaurant.
As we get ready to pull out we see him pull the curtains up and look out at us. The girls get all giggly and screechy and wave and he sheepishly waves back. And Mexican becomes their favorite food!