So all of our family’s celebratory dinners are resigned to being spent at Olive Garden. The Salad, the Fettuccine Alfredo and the service… MY GOD the Service! The other day we found ourselves there again. A familiar face approached our table smiling subtly as he approached. First off he’s a charmer, but you expect that from a waiter, and I bet he frequently gets good tips. I have no idea if he’s a family man but he certainly was good.
Now realize he’s not one of those over enthusiastic young men. No, this man is mature with a salt and pepper scruff and a delicious Slavic accent to stir things up a bit more. I was wearing a lovely low cut number and he didn’t hesitate to look knowing I saw him look. It was the only time during the meal he wasn’t directly next to and above me.
Most of the flirtation was his charisma with the entire table. Touches were only exchanged subversively through grazes of fingers in handing dishes back and forth and profuse thank yous however he had something else up his sleeve.
The cheese grater made it’s first appearance as our first salad arrived. He asked me directly how much cheese we wanted and I. Said. LOTS! Oh he emptied that graters contents all over our salad resting on the tray and he made sure to show us ALL. Fuck it was hot. The second salad came and was placed on the table Right next to me. The cheese grater made it’s second appearance and he began turning that crank from up high. He was marking me with Parmesan! I’m surprised I didn’t blush when I said “I think that’s enough” and he replied “I don’t think you think that’s enough.”and he just kept on applying the cheese. Everyone laughed but I think he knew he was making me hot.
By the time our meal came I was All about the Cheese. Whip it out, churn that crank faster, higher Yes get it all over the table… but everyone wanted what he was shredding. I could tell he had wooed us all with his tool. Bravo Sir… bravo.