I went with a bunch of co-workers to that lighthouse restaurant in Long
Beach, and midway through lunch the beautiful blonde waitress spilled
something in my lap. Something small, like a chili pepper or an olive.
I was wearing Levi's 501s, so I didn't particularly care, but you'd
have thought it was a tray of martinis from how she reacted.

She immediately dropped to her knees, wedged in between my legs, took a
rag and proceeded to wipe my lap off. Thorough and hard and deep, like
a shiatsu massage for the male groin. There were absolutely *no*
visible stains, but that wouldn't stop her from her task. She dabbed
and stroked and wiped as mouths dropped open in shock and envy all
around the table.

It was quite sweet of her, but totally lost on me, as I had a boyfriend
at the time.