hot waiters and headbangers

I took the monitos out for a special lunch treat today to a local nice restaurant. Fish. It was good. I have children who eat salads and fish and good food and don't complain, and who seem to have somehow learned how to behave well in public places...so to take my children to a restaurant when I am on zone defense is actually a pleasure, not a pain.

This particular restaurant in the local "chain" is packed with hot waiters. I mean, hot. Younger. But true to life eye-candy.

In jeans. (gulps cold water)

One particularly hot model kept walking by the table, en route to his tables. I would be talking to my children (yes, I am an engaging parent) and he would stop, turn and look at me. Perhaps as if thinking that I could be asking him for something. But I wasn't and, unfortunately, I had not been seated at one of his tables.

Rats.

But this occurred on three, maybe four different occasions during our meal. Wish he would have spoken to me, had he had something to say. And I am too shy to exert myself.

But it was fun being looked at, for whatever reason. I May Live in my own Fantasy World. Makes Life more interesting that way. (probably checking out my new Shakira hairstyle--JA!)

Unfortunately, after all plates had been cleaned, desserts devoured, lunch paid and tummies happily filled, I got the children into their jackets and was about to head out when I stopped and decided to look back in the booth just to ensure we had left nothing behind. On posts on either side of the entrance to a booth are solid iron hooks for hanging your coats...and what did I do?

Whacked my head so hard against one of them as I turned to look for anything forgotten that I fell, in tears, into the booth and patrons sitting at the next booth called their waiter over and the next thing I knew I was being tended to by the floor manager. My temple was swelling rapidly and the mark of the iron hook was clearly visible on my pale skin, so they rushed to get me ice, then rushed to take my information. I got a little water since I was shaking (more from embarrassment than anything) but was really starting to get a radiating killer headache and just wanted to get us home. I got really tired on the way home and wanted to take a nap, but decided instead to give The Young Prince his Big Boy Easter gift early...a new Big Boy Bike, got my tools out and installed the training wheels on it (and a horn, of course...ugh). Plus, I know not to sleep immediately after getting hit in the head, even if you think it is just a little thing. So I fought it off with some work.

The kids were great and do exactly what they are supposed to in those kinds of situations; namely, give Mama Llama lots of love and charm the heck out of the wait staff. So they complied, and even managed to not create in me a worse headache over the course of the night.

I did not see the one particularly hot waiter again after dessert.

Perhaps I just had a headbanger of a penance to pay just for looking.