There’s a kid working at a cafe I frequent I’ve come to know and like. He’s half Latino, half American Indian with shiny black hair braided down his back. To say he’s striking is an understatement, and he’s sweet to boot.
He always comes over whether he’s waiting on me or not to see if I need anything. I make sure to watch him stroll away since he wears ghetto pants sliding south with very preppy boxers peeking out as he passes. I’m fascinated by this.
They’re not your ordinary drawers by any means. They look like shorts George Plimpton might have worn, or William F. Buckley. No Calvins for this guy.
The combination of low, and I mean low trousers and festive plaids bring out the Connecticut in me. Makes me want to barbecue, or play a little croquette.
Does this kid spend his tips at Brooks Brothers or Paul Stuart? Does he have a charge at L.L.Bean? I so want to ask him without sounding nosy or flirty, but have yet to do so.
I was all set to when I stupidly locked myself in a stall in the ladies room. Yes, Lucy was in the house ladies and gentlemen.
“Help Help,” I yelled, so he was the one who came to my rescue.
After apologizing for being such an idiot, I thought…now here’s a great opportunity to inquire about those shorts, but considering the circumstances felt he’d think there was really something wrong with me.
He actually had to take the door off its hinges saying, “Don’t worry, it will just be another minute, okay Miss?” (calling me Miss makes me want to put him in my will) He seemed concerned I’d get flushed by accident. It’s one of those automatic toilets if you’re not careful will grab your wallet right out of your pants.
I thought, he’s so sweet and polite I’d like to get him something. A little gift to show my appreciation for how kind he is. Not once did he say anything to make me feel stupider than I already felt, especially after seeing the line of women waiting to pee.
I asked my pal Camille what she thought would be an appropriate present and without missing a beat said, “How bout a belt?”