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Here’s mine…

Back in the day, I was like Jet from ROCK CHICK RESCUE. I can still be a little Jet-ish if the mood strikes me. That is to say, if there was a hot guy anywhere in the vicinity, I would either a) do something immensely stupid or b) clam up and try to be invisible.

I was also a cocktail waitress. Now, don’t get excited. I wasn’t one of those Smithie’s, tight tank, short skirt, high heels ones. I was a cocktail waitress at a place called Beef and Boards in Indianapolis. It was a dinner theater and it was knee-length black skirt, comfy shoes and tuxedo shirt with bow tie.

There are lots of Beef and Boards stories to tell. This was mostly because I was the worst cocktail waitress EVAH! I’ll tell the story of the Three Dog Night um… night in some other blog. We’ll just say that I met the boys in the band and Three Dog Night are not my biggest fans. Or they weren’t that night. They probably don’t remember me though I did make an impression. Just a bad one.

Moving on…

So, the Chippendales dancers were doing a show at our dinner theater. Obviously, being Jet, this terrified me. And also obviously, being a really crappy waitress, I was even more terrified of having to serve a bunch of dancing-in-their-seats, shouting, randy women.

It was not a good night.

First because, dancing-in-their-seats, shouting, randy women ordered strawberry daiquiris. Lots of them. Do you know how hard it is to balance seven strawberry daiquiris on a cocktail tray? Let me tell you. It’s very, very hard. And to serve with a bunch of dancing-in-their-seats, shouting, randy women is harder still. And I’ll remind you, I wasn’t good at the gig in the first place.

So, as it was bound to happen, I dumped a tray of daiquiris into one woman’s lap. She was not best pleased even after my manager whipped out his ever-present-when-I-was-on-shift dry cleaning coupons.

Further, those women each had approximately five hundred dollars worth of one dollar bills. And they had uses for each and every one. And those uses were not to tip their waitress.

Clearly, I was a little shaken after The Daiquiri Incident and still had visions of the hair-pulling catfight I narrowly missed so when I walked into the hidden bar at the top of the theater and Cowboy Dancer was there, I was in no state.

And this would become that random moment I want back.

See, he was hot. Now, there are degrees of hot and we’ll just say the Chippendales dancers pretty much define those degrees. So on the hot-o-meter, he rang the bell. LOUD !

Oh.
My.
God.

This guy was crazy, sexy, hot. Holy crap. Unbelievable.

And being Jet, shy and clueless, and it being after The Daiquiri Incident, it wasn’t until way, way, way too late that I realized the dude only had eyes for me. From the minute I walked in, he watched me. So from the minute I walked in, I totally avoided him like the plague.

He stood leaning on the bar by the thingie we had to enter our drinks into and of course, I had to enter my order of seventeen strawberry daiquiris and I swear to GOD, I could feel his gaze all over my body. Every inch. It was inches away. He was inches away. And I didn’t so much as turn my head and smile at him.

I’m a stupid bee-yatch.

Anyhoots, my order was served and there I was with my tray of seventeen strawberry daiquiris and I walked into the theater to serve them.

The theater was dark.

Now, I’m night blind (do you see why I was a bad waitress? That and not being able to make change, hopeless). I have no hope of moving through the theater to serve my drinks. So I stood there, waiting for the next troop of hot guys to hit the stage and the lights to go on.

The problem was (CLUELESS!) the next hot guy up was the cowboy.

And thus, the spotlight came on and when it did, it shone on me.

I blinked in shock then suddenly became part of the act as hot, sexy as all heck Cowboy Stripper started dancing and gyrating around me.

Needless to say, I was frozen to the spot, my sole focus on not dropping my tray (and, um… maybe his chest and other parts of his body). So when I focused on his face and saw his eyes on me, I didn’t catch it at the time. The look in his eyes, the intensity of it. The fact that he wasn’t biting his lip or doing anything that was for the girls he was entertaining but that his sole focus was not on my tray.

But on me.

Seriously, this is the random moment in my life I want back. Do you get what I’m telling you?

And nearly the instant he caught my eyes, he read me. He knew I was mortified, even suffering, and he moved right away. He didn’t make me endure even a second longer of that scene.

And he did that for me.

It was a nice thing to do.

After, and this is not a joke, the house lights up, we’re clearing our tables and the boys came out to meet the women in the audience they had somehow, during the show, chosen to be The One for One Night (for some of them, it was two and by two I don’t mean two nights).

I peeked and the Cowboy wasn’t there.

I wonder, to this day, where he was.

And I wonder, to this day, what would have happened if I’d just turned my head at the thingie where we entered our drinks and smiled at him.

Turn your head and smile, sisters. It may go right. It may go wrong. It could mean you’d be The One for One Night but oh, what a night. It could mean something else entirely.

But at least it won’t be a random moment in your life you want back.

PS: I found a photo of a hot cowboy to put in my blog but I don't know how to post it on this. So if you wanna see it (and trust me, you wanna see it), go to my blog at Kit's Blog.