~~~~Dedicated to Kay Marie whom has given me the best days of my life~~~~~~~
I steal parts of my sister’s life. Sorry about that, Sis, but my muse perks up and does jumping jacks because of your experiences, mishaps, and ridiculous misfortunes. In other words, you crack me up.
My partners in crime are my girlfriends and my sister, Kay. During one of our gatherings a few years ago at a Sports Bar, Antonio Banderas was our waiter. I’m not kidding you. I had no idea this man waited tables in between his Zorro films and Melanie Griffith. Regardless, here comes Antonio with his saucy, sexy, seductive self to take our orders, and we’re giggling like fourteen year old girls… “Oh isn’t he cute? Isn’t he adorable? He’s hotter than hell and young enough to be our…I will not finish that sentence. And how dare you ask.
So Kay is batting her eyes like one of those cartoon characters with the oversized lashes; Betty Boop or something. “I’ll have a salad with the dressing on the side,” she purrs, staring up at him like Bambie on crack. And I say loudly, “Tell him what you really waaaaaant!” Antonio stands there grinning gorgeously, and his teeth, I swear to god, are sparkling and shining like dripping pearls; his skin is velvety milk chocolate, and his hair is pulled back into the most luscious black pony tail I’ve ever witnessed. It is surging sensually down his back like a kind of dark water.
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Meoooooooooooow. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Sometimes words escape a woman. Yes, it’s true.
After I take all of him in, I repeat, “Tell him what you really waaaaant.”
Kay looks at me with one of those “I’m-going-to-friggen-kill-you-when-we-leave-here-looks” and says sweetly in her Kay voice…. “And what pry tell do I want?”
“Onion rings, silly, or perhaps something else a little spiiiiicy.”
We all begin roaring, snorting, and clapping our hands together like fools. We are 40 –ish year old women who just don’t give a damn after two glasses of wine if you want the whole truth and nothin’ but the truth.
When Antonio speaks, we are surprised he doesn’t have a Spanish or Italian accent. You know, the sort of dialect that spills sex all over the table. Damn it, with that face, it just seems wrong as hell to be from Minnesota.
Anyway, when we go out, we usually dress up. I mean, it’s an excuse to wear four inch heels, dark eyeliner, and paint ourselves pretty. Kay has this braided hairpiece she inserts sometimes for a little oomph, a little umph, a little Bridget Bardot. It‘s quite hip. In fact, this reminds me, I’ve been meaning to get one of those hair pieces in blonde, just to see if blondes have more fun.
Seriously, one time I sprayed my entire head blonde with some of those Revlon color cans to surprise my husband. I had to use three entire cans, and when I open the front door to let him in, he stares at me, his brain calculating who the sam hell I was cause he’s used to dark haired chicks. He finally says very nonchalantly, TINA TURNER?
Men drive me totally insane.
Back to Our Antonio. (Isn’t that a book?)
So we’re waiting for our onion rings and artichoke dip, chatting ever so lovingly about Antonio’s butt, his full lips, and how we’d like to kiss him reeeeal bad, when quite suddenly there he is standing with his delectable darkness appearing all awkward and tongue tied.
“Excuse me, ladies, but—but— does this item belong to any of you?” He is holding his silver serving tray up towards us with his beautiful brown hand and we all tilt our heads to peek inside. What could it possibly be? Is he giving us his phone number, his address, the key to his heart?
We begin laughing and howling like crazy women. We cannot stop. It is too much to handle.
Upon Antonio’s tray, arranged like a furry little squirrel, like some damn road kill scooped off the highway 61– is Kay’s braided hairpiece. And my sister being her cool, confident self, points to the table across from us and asserts, “I think it belongs over there.”