"It's not that glorious," I explained to my girlfriend opposite to the restaurant table. "Being an architect makes people think of a master, who creates magazine ready buildings. In reality, only very few select architects get to create a great high rise in the Middle East. To get there, one has to be lucky by birth to have the right family connections."
"Normal architects get to work on a detail of the building, like the stairs or the sewage pipes. Last week, I got the honor of designing the entrance door. The principal architect didn't like my first design, because it didn't catch enough attention. So, I had to redo all the tensile strength calculation, go down to city hall to get the change approved. Two days later, he thought the door didn't blend in enough with the existing façade. That's another two days of redoing calculations and getting permits. That's actually been going on for a whole month. And, it's just a damn door."
"Why don't you call him on his bullshit," asked my girlfriend?
"He has to give me an eval at the end of the quarter. He must already think poorly of me to not get it right. Rent went up again. I need a good raise. He has got me by the balls. All, I can do is tough it out."
I sadly starred down my water glass. My girlfriend Candice shuffled receipts on the white cloth table. She had a big pile of receipts, spread sheets, and the check book. She was reconciling our expenses and checkbook. We had recently moved in together after we had gotten a foothold in our entry level jobs after an average college that normal people could afford. She wore plain Banana Republic khakis and a white t-shirt. And, we had our weekly routine down including the Sunday visit to our favorite burger place.
Near the kitchen entrance stood our waitress. She had trim and fit legs and belly. She wore two pig tails on the side, a tight t-shirt that pressed her boobs into round ball shapes, a skimpy pleated skirt, sneakers, and knee high, ribbed socks. Her cheerleader look was completed by her bouncy steps. She must have been fresh out of high school.
"Go ahead, you can catch an eye full. We are a pretty open minded couple, aren't we? As long as you only eat at home, you can window shop," said my girlfriend with a smile, a pencil in her mouth and another one stuck behind her ear.
I looked again. Something about watching attractive women makes my mind go happy. This invigorating smile comes on my face. My mouth gets wet like in anticipation of a good meal. Somehow just the right kind of curvature of a chest makes my limbs feel strong and invigorated. It's like an internal fountain of youth turned on.
And, I love watching her skirt from behind. It is so short that one can almost see the undercarriage, if it would sway just right. And, with every step forward, the back of her skirt leaps forward. It's like the skirt back is lapping at her butt. Each time, the fabric melts around her butt to give me the full details on her exercised butt. My eyes squint to search for the faint outline of her G-string. This is happiness.
The waitress stops, looks at her shoes, and bends over with her legs straight. Her butt is facing us directly. My heart pounds. My minds slows time down. Her hemline slowly rises bit by bit. I can almost see her butt exposed. Her private regions of her hamstrings begin showing. There! Her pink G-string is exposed. The pink mound of fabric is so small and so curved. I can barely make out the double mound of her labia.
"Stevie, that's too much. Look at me," my girlfriend demanded with panic on her face. I looked Candice in the face. She had a haircut from the $19.99 barber that evenly stepped the length around her face. Like me, she had put on a bit wait from all the studying at high school and 40+ hour weeks. Because we had become familiar with each other, her only makeup was a cheap red lipstick from CVS.
I couldn't help to steal a quick glance back at the waitress. I pretended to clean my eye and looked sharp left for a split second. I thought that the waitress had paused tying her second shoe and was starring right at me with a devious smile. Though, I am not sure, because Candice hit her flat hand on the table to force my eyes back on her.
"You are the most beautiful woman in my book," I told Candice.
She went back to her home accounting work. My thoughts drifted back to work and the endless hours that went into designing that stupid entrance door. My glance drifted through the restaurant. It was one of those dark affairs to make it more elegant. Heavy dark wooden beams gave the room a closed in feeling. The room was surrounded by old, worn leather booths. Somehow the round shapes in the upholstery cushion that the nails driven into it stuck in my memory. The rough feel of dried leather patches always brought back the memories of this place: The food, the feeling of a break, the excitement of dining.
Sharp tock-tock-tock noises ripped me out of my day dream. The waitress was behind the counter. On a wooden board, she had laid out a couple apples. In her hand was a giant, shiny, sharp chef's knife. She insecurely held the knife at the far point of the handle. The knife was raised over her head and chopped down onto an apple half hard. The apple pieces were dancing on the counter kicked to life by the chef's knife. Tock – down came the knife again aiming at a wiggling apple piece.
My heart froze terrified about the poor knife handling skills. My veins were curdling with pain of anticipation that the knife would go flying out of her little fingers, miss the wood board, or worse the handle of a cheap knife may break loose sending the sharp blade flying uncontrollably until it would dive into tender flesh. I could barely breathe and had to look away.
Candice, luckily, distracted me, "What do you think of getting a cat or a dog? It would be good practice for starting a family later. A pet needs the same consistency of daily car like a baby. It could be a practice and stepping stone to get it right with the baby. A dog needs a daily walk, food, training, and affection. And, later the dog can help us raise our child."
"That's a good strategy," I replied. "It would be good for us to get a little more exercise and go on a daily walk. I kind of like those hunting type dogs like the pointers. They seem so sleek. They are smart. And, we could take the dog on our hikes."
"I am more of a small dog person. They are easier to handle. Though, we can shop around and explore our options."
That's how we usually plan our life: Objective, short discussion and get it done. I kind of started warming up to the idea of having a dog around us soon. Rough housing a little ball of fur seemed like a fun thing. Watching that little wet, red tongue hang out of its mouth would be so cute, while it would try to keep up with me.
Just then, I noticed the teenage cheerleader waitress again. The big boss had come out. He was a big round man with a suit. He wobbled left and right as he walked. He had a little goatee to appear cooler. However, he had the goatee for so long that he had grown careless about styling it. Now, it looked like a derelict of a time, when he looked cool. He reached his arm out straight to stop the waitress.
"You can't leave middle in your shift. Plates and customers are waiting."
