It’s been a very social couple of weeks over here – which is partly (I admit, only partly) responsible for my dearth of posting. First we had ECCC and the lovely out-of-towners who showed up for it; and then we had Norwescon, and the subsequent fine non-locals; and now Stina Leicht has had the unmitigated GALL to hang around Seattle, having a wonderful time and luring us hermity residents out into the rain.*
In fact, just last night she and I (and Kat and Liz and Melissa-who-must-remain-unlinked-at-this-time.) took the Seattle Ghost Tour. The tour itself was actually a lot of fun; I was familiar with only a few of the stories, and I learned some nifty nuggets of story fodder which I have filed away for later.
After the tour we stopped at one of the places we’d actually visited while on the tour – an Irish pub/restaurant in an allegedly haunted building. Yes, well. We pressed our supernatural luck.
Didn’t encounter any ghosts. Did encounter some wholly unexpected hilarity.
Picture it: a table of five women, all married, tipsy, most of us old enough to have children of bar-visiting age. (Technically. Mind you.) Now picture an uncommonly attractive, terribly young body-builder in a very-tight shirt, sauntering up to our table to ask what we were drinking …
…whereupon we reached the 100 PERCENT REASONABLE conclusion that this must be our new waiter.
Reasonable conclusions are not always foolproof.
Oh no. Mr. BouncyPecs was trawling for sexytimes.
Now look – we all agreed that it took significant testicular volume to approach a table full of women in such a fashion. We didn’t intend to laugh at him or send him slinking away, a puddle of mortified man-ooze. Far from it! As we told him, we were flattered – very flattered – and we appreciated his interest. But I do confess, some measure of giggling might’ve occurred as we all displayed our wedding rings.
It was just … Jesus, you have to understand: By the time we realized he was trying to pick us up (individually or en masse – however it shaped up), it was entirely too late to pretend this wasn’t awkward. We’d already asked about the specials!
So we thought we’d made ourselves clear in a friendly but firm fashion – but we were wrong about that, too. Because then he asked in all seriousness: “You’re all like … married married? Not even, like, married … but with some gray area?” Repeatedly. While “leading with the wang,” if you ladies know what I mean.
Finally, Liz suggested that if he was that desperate to buy us something, he should mosey over to the bar and bring us a dessert menu. Hey, our spouses prefer a little junk in the trunk! Help a sister out, Captain Ticklepants!
He declined, and wandered off.
So we bought dessert ourowndamnselves.
* In all fairness, it’s actually been relatively nice the last few days. This is because Seattle lies to people. It rolls out the temperate, blue-sky bait for those who are just passing through – spreading the rumor that this is a beautiful place where the residents get plenty of Vitamin D.