For the last ten years, I take my mother out to breakfast, lunch, or dinner, once a week. Just Mom and I, not my wife, not my kids, just the two of us. It gives us a quiet moment away from our work, our home, and we can have a nice conversation. Since Mom retired during the pandemic year, and I've been traveling less for my work, it's become sometimes twice a week. Now, with her not working, she needs an excuse to get out of her house, and with my kids all now out of the house, I don't have a lot of obligations that keep me running around.
So, my mom just had her 69th birthday, and she wasn't feeling well earlier in the week, so we skipped going out. But today she called me, and asked if I was busy, if football was on. It's the first week of no college football, and the week before the NFL begins Saturday games. My two oldest sons are coming home for Christmas, from the Army, and it's been two years since they were home; my mother of course was excited and wanted to discuss what we were planning for her grandsons' visit.
I met her at the Applebee's in town, it's equidistant for us, about 5 minutes away from each. On a Saturday at noon, it's usually not busy, and she had heard on the television that they had some kind of thing that she wanted, a sizzling steak or something. This restaurant is her favorite, but really, it's hit or miss. The servers come and go, it's rare to ever see one twice, and they are usually young girls with tattoos and purple hair. You know.
As we sat waiting for our server, she went right in on the menu. She found the sizzling items she was looking for, they had like five to choose from. Me, I just wanted a burger, so I was ready to order in seconds. As always, I scanned the restaurant. Cute girls in yoga pants, mostly this is what I'm looking for. At this place, all the servers dress this way, tight yoga pants, right up their crack, cameltoe out and all. Sometimes the pants are semi sheer, and their underpants are obvious through the material. On a rare occasion, one might even catch one without underpants, and we are treated to that sight.
Our waitress arrived at the table and took our drink order. Mom ordered an iced tea, and I got a soda. As the lady reached over the table to place the full menus, I noticed her hands. I have never seen nails like these. Big, like more than an inch long, and painted some kind of turquoise sparkle. I complimented her on these, and she blushed and thanked me. As Mom was asking her a question about one of the items on the menu, she looked back at me, and smiled. Mom got her sizzling steak, and I got my burger.
She returned a minute or two later with our drinks, and again I complimented her, this time on the scarf she wore around her neck. My mom of course is oblivious to what I was doing, but the waitress, Kelly, was not. Kelly was short, with blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, with a ribbon which matched her scarf. She was cute, for being around 60, certainly in the top 10 percent of her class. Her body was trim, and I guess they call it petite, and she was the only server in the place not wearing yoga pants. As she left us, and went to a nearby table, she turned her back to us, and I got a good look at her rear. Despite not being yoga pants, they were still form-fitting, just not vulgar. Her pants had ridden up her crack, and she definitely had a good form.
Kelly returned in ten minutes with our meals, and again smiled at me, and I winked at her this time. She blushed very heavily, like she had suddenly been hit in the face with a whole thing of rouge. Mom and I ate our lunch, it was good as usual, and we settled on some of the arrangements for my sons Georg and Vlad, and their visit. Each time I spotted this waitress around in the room, I checked her out, and each time she faced toward me, I made eye contact and smiled at her. She always returned the smile, but looked away.
