As it turns out, one of the young women who work the registers called out."Can you call someone in?" my boss inquired upon seeing me. Her name is Lynn... She's petite to an extent. Compared to my tall stature, her eyes were level with my shoulders. Due to the outfits she wears and her immature yet judicious personality, I often fantasized that she was much younger than her thirty-five years. That when she was home and the curtains were drawn, Lynn let her inner child come out to play.Today, she. Finally, I coated my pretty colored lips with two coats of shinysticky lip gloss. I winked at Richard reflected in my mirror who waswatching me get ready for work. I then stood up to face him in my freshly ironed cocktail waitressuniform. Today I would be wearing my pink uniform. I loved wearing it.I thrill just listening to the ruffly petticoats swishing under my skirtas I move. I love seeing my cute nametag letting all the customers knowthat, "I am Brandee, and I will be your waitress. “Do you mean it’s like Santa? Is heaven just a story for little children?”I smiled at Bec. My first clue that either of the girls had worked out the truth about Santa had been three days before last Christmas. Only a week before, the two of them had cheerfully written letters to Santa and shown them to me so I could check their spelling before gleefully running down the street to the post box. Then three days before Christmas, the rugby club had a Christmas party with carols and a Santa and all. When this young woman came in that I guessed to be a university student, yet she dressed with class. A tight white sweater, short skirt that showed off her long tanned shapely legs (my weakness.) I looked her over as she stood in line and she looked me over where I sat with a mischievous smile on her full lips. Then I looked at the way she moved her hips as she sauntered to a table close at hand. Her? Our? Story in poetical prose of rhythmic stanzas that will curl a girl’s toes. No rings she.
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