SUGAR TIME

I'm not peeping under the lunch table across from me but can't help noticing two legs wearing medium high heeled shoes, tap tap tapping on the wooden floor. My eyes follow them to a brown wool skirt and the table cloth's hem. Trying to look normal, nonchalant, I am not surprised to see her tan sweater over a brown turtle neck shirt. Her nice proportions make a pretty picture. Her face is blank, expressionless as she impatiently taps the table for her order.
 
My curiosity piques and I start looking under other tables. Next to the tapper a young lady has crossed her long legs showing a lot of skin above her knees. One high heeled shoe has been kicked off and lays close her. Manly, hairy legs keep her company. It seems he is comfortable in brown sandals. As he lifts his right leg to cross it on his left knee, I can barely see a price tag still on the shoe sole. The ladies unshod foot reaches over and runs up and down the hairy legs. No visible reaction from either do I see.
 
My attention has to turn to my corned beef sandwich that the waitress had put before me without me seeing her do it. I spread it too heavily with mustard and scrape some off. It is good but the view is better. My fries I over goop with ketchup.
 
With my sly eye, I sneak a look at the roving leg. It is inside her friend's Bermuda shorts. I know I should look away but can't. This is the best lunch I can remember. I eat. I glance. The male's face remains placid. He too eats his sandwich while the lady sips her tea and watches him. Not real loud, but loud enough for me to hear and semi-see, 'Janet, that was lovely. I enjoyed it.' He pushes his leftovers to the side . 'I wouldn't mind dessert if you'll join me.'
 
Now I am embarrassed but fascinated. I eat more slowly. Janet kicks off her other shoe, adjusts her skirt that I hadn't noticed was quite flared. She leans back, relaxes, uses her fork to get a few of the cold fries to her plate. The waitress interrupts to offer dessert. 'Yes, I would like something sweet, real sweet. I'll have chocolate chocolate cake with plenty of fudge.  Her friend says, 'Ask and it is yours.' They share the dessert. I have stalled too long. The waitress gives me my check and leaves. I do too.
 
My lunch was worth the price, ten times over. Tonight I will go to sleep with out my sleep pill as I again envision the sweet, real sweet dessert those two had-at least twice.