John McCullagh September 6, 2008
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When Peter and I were finally ensconced at a table in Foster’s Coffee Shop we would count our pennies to make sure that we had enough for a cup of coffee each. I could not comprehend the bare cheek of the establishment in charging the prices it did.


Peter, though as financially challenged as me, never batted an eyelid. He behaved as though he was Rockefeller and treated the waitresses as if they were his private assistants. 

 

‘Excuse me, ma’am!’ he would interrupt one of the young ladies as she passed by. 

 

They were all about four or five years older than we were at the time and, to my eyes, beautiful beyond words – every last one of them in her own special way. I was totally tongue-tied in my adulation.

 

I’m certain my mouth hung open all the time. Like a dog drooling over a bone.

 

‘Would you mind bringing a new menu, please? This one is very dog-eared!’  

 

I think my facial expression brought that verbal one to his mind.

 

It was not a request but a demand.

 

Looking lovingly into her eyes I feigned a dismissive expression, attempting to distance myself from my companion’s comment.

 

Her face lit up

 

– but not at me – at him!

 

‘Most certainly, Sir. I apologise. Right away, Sir!’

 

And off she shuttled on her errand. 

 

I was mystified. How did he get off with it? 

 

I would happily have walked barefoot on hot coals just to earn that smile from such a paragon of beauty!

 

… more to follow ….

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