“Good morning Miss.” The waiter said waving carafe of coffee under my nose.
I sat up in bed rubbed the crusty varmits from my all too thin lashes and held out my coffee mug.
As he poured I realized he was using the orange carafe with the cheerful white daisies on it…
I cringed and shivered.
It’s never the orange carafe unless something is afoot with one of my comrades in crime - or both...
I’d have tucked back in and pulled the covers over my head but the coffee smelled so delightful that I convinced myself I was simply being silly…
And then the waiter pulled a shining silver tray of my favorite pastries from his front left pocket and placed it on my night stand with a sunshiny yellow napkin...
Damn it. I knew I was right! Today was going to be filled with a lot more than coffee..
“Would Miss like anything else this morning?” he said with an all too cheerful side eyed smile.
I barfed a sigh, held my hand out palm up and wiggled 'come here and give it too' me fingers. “Let me have the paper man, I know it’s up your sleeve.”
“No Miss” he said; smiling that sort of smile you smile when you are ‘technically’ telling the ‘truth’ but you know very well it is a lie. “I assure you it is not up my sleeve.”
And the ‘game’ ensued; “pant leg?”
The waiter’s left eye narrowed and twitched. Even though he knew he was not going to win he made the next move anyway; “not up my pant leg either Miss.”
It never ceased to amaze me, the vast array – and size – of items the waiter could pull from inside his pockets and sleeves and pant legs and hats and hair and – okay let’s not go anywhere near crevices… “Back pocket, right side, behind the bowling ball.”
He merely chuckled; “the bowling ball is in my left back pocket today Miss.”
“Damn!” I held my mug out for more coffee. “Inner breast pocket tucked into the physics book you are never going to read?”
“Nope” he said, but his lip twitched in a way that told me I was getting warmer.”
“Trouser watch pocket underneath the only napkin that was salvaged from the Euthanasia Curry House after the balloon incident.”
“Maybe…. but what’s on top of that?” the waiter smugly replied.
“The last piece of belly button lint on which Dr. T said he could hear a Who!” I said triumphantly…
And then I realized something I didn’t need any headline in the morning paper to tell me and a nearly dropped my coffee mug. Thankfully I held steady… I am so not fond of coffee intermixed with hints of wrinkled sheet…
“Get Indigo Roth on the phone STAT!”
“Already done Miss” he said, pulling my cell phone from under the single button on his cummerbund.
With it he handed me the morning paper. Just in case my petite ‘spidey’ senses were wrong.
Sure enough… there it was, big and bold, in next week’s headline:
WITH A VERY SMALL AMOUNT OF MS. PETITE'S MOJO…..