Today I got a call to go out to lunch from a devastatingly cute young man. I giggled and agreed, and met him downtown.

Yes, of course it was my son, off early on Wednesdays from high school.

I suspect he wanted less my scintillating company and more my VISA card to pay for his meal, but no matter. We usually have a decent conversation, somehow less confrontational and naggy in a restaurant rather than over my kitchen counter with some errant gym sock of his catching my eye and irritating me. I usually get some insight on how he is feeling or what he is up to, which is nice. Usually. Today’s insight was a new addition to my aging process.

He wanted us to go to a Mexican place that he had been to before with his girlfriend, so I agreed. Our waitress, a woman about my age or older with long curly dark hair, a spray tan, and lots of clangy clattery jewelry, chattered to us about the specials and gave us a minute to figure out our order. My son grinned a sly slow grin, leaned over to me and said, “She wants me.”

I looked back at him, rolled my eyes, frowned, pursed my lips in disbelief, and shook my head: the Four Signs Of The OH, RIGHT. “Please. Give me a break.”

“No, really! She was flirting with me hard the last two times I was here! You wait!”

“OH, RIGHT. Yer outta yer mind, kid.”

To torture me, my son brought out his best charming manners with her, his deep voice, and shiny expensive smile as he ordered his chimichanga. I saw nothing from her more that the usual friendly waitress banter. Ha. No way. Come on now. Our food arrived after a bit and it was quite tasty, but neither he nor I could finish it all, and we wanted to take it home to eat later. The waitress came back, looked at MY CHILD and asked him if he needed A BOX, smiling. He smiled back and nodded, and she said, “Oh, honey, I’ll give you a box all right,” and TOUCHED HIS HAND AS SHE TOOK HIS PLATE AWAY.


She left to go to the kitchen, my son looked at my horror-stricken face, and started howling with laughter. “SEE?” he said, “SEE? I told you!”

“Could she NOT SEE THAT YOU WERE WITH YOUR MOTHER???????” My son just kept laughing at me and my outrage, and then of course I also had to laugh. Oh, what the hell is going on in this world.

Curly McCougar came back with the STYROFOAM CONTAINERS, and I gave her a shitty tip. HA!