I was driving through the countryside with a friend of mine, George, by name. Now George, while being a very nice chap with a nice line in charm and an attraction to women, has one fatal flaw. He looks like a certain well known film star.
It can really irritate him when people come up and ask for autographs, but he's finally figured out a solution. He just signs whatever they push at him with the words 'I am not who you think I am'. By the time they decipher his writing, he's gone.
You're probably wondering why I've brought the matter up. It's like this. We were feeling peckish and so we pulled up at this country café. It was too late for lunch and too early for most people to want afternoon tea, so by chance we were the only customers in the café.
The café had an Asian theme, Japanese I think, and the hostess was Asian and dressed in a kimono. She was quite a lovely woman, petite and with that ageless Japanese look that put her at somewhere between twenty and fifty.
So much for Japanese inscrutability. She recognised George as his alter ego as soon as we walked in, and her eyes went very wide. Before she could say anything, I chipped in.
"Good afternoon," I said pleasantly. "I'm John and this is George Brown. Would it be possible for us to have a table, please."
I lay some heavy emphasis on the George Brown, looking firmly at the woman to make sure she got the message. She did.
She was almost bowing as she ushered us to a table and fetched menus.
George was giving me the old fish-eye, demanding to know what the hell I was doing.
"Damnit," he said. "The way you introduced me sounded so fake that she's now convinced that she's got a film star in her café."
"True," I said, unrepentant, "and I bet we get superb service while we're here."
"You, Johnny boy, have an evil turn of mind," I was informed.
I laughed and took a menu, and then we ordered out late lunch.
I was right. The service was impeccable. The woman couldn't do enough for us, hovering over us obsequiously, desperate that everything should go well. I saw a pretty young lass stick her head out of the kitchen door to give us the once over. She blushed and withdrew when I smiled and nodded to her.
Being two healthy young men we naturally discussed the physical attributes of the woman serving us. She really was quite lovely in that timeless Asian manner, and so eager to serve. After observing her for a while I'd have put her age somewhere in the thirties, but I could have been wrong.
George made the comment that he wouldn't kick her out of his bed, and I laughed.
"The way she's acting, why don't you just suggest she lie down on the floor next to the table. Bet you ten bucks she'll do so."
George laughed at that.
"More likely to get my face slapped," he said.
I was shocked. "Slap the face of you know who?" I gasped. "Believe me, it'll never happen. The most that will happen will be that she'll blush and refuse. Try it. Ten bucks on it."
George ignored my challenge, but he continued to look the woman over as she moved around. Eventually she came over and asked if there was anything else and George turned on that charming smile of his.
"Well, yes," he said, his voice as smooth as syrup. "Would you be so kind as to lay down on the floor here." He indicated the passage next to the table.
The woman blushed, looked at George, looked at the floor again and then back at George. For a moment I thought she was going to scurry back to the counter, but to my surprise she actually sank down and laid on the floor.
I heard her say, "What if my daughter should come out?" and so I hastened to reassure her.
