Is it possible to be sort of humilated and sort of flattered at the same time? Now that I write that it doesn't seem so odd, but at the time it felt very odd.
Yesterday we were eating at Red Robin...
All right, I must break here and wonder why adults without children in accompanyment would ever eat at Red Robin. It's loud, obnoxious, the food is ok, there's often a guy dressed up like a big bird that walks around, and there's balloons. They even sing at you when it's your birthday. (Didn't we give that up with Bennigans back in the eighties?) It's one step off a Chuckie Cheese, for crissake. But, eat there they do, and my story wouldn't be possible without 'em, so let us continue...
(Editor's Note: the author fails to add that, on occassion, she herself has eaten at Red Robin with only adult(s) in tow. Furthermore, she fails to add that she is routinely the only adult at Chuckie Cheese with a beer in hand; and though she claims to hate it with a passion- the restaraunt, not the beer - she knows the birthday party song by heart and likes to play air hockey at the little table on her knees because she can "beat the s*** out of the little f******s, bwahahahahaha!")
(This would be one of two things she enjoys doing while on her knees.)
(And she thinks Whomp-A-Mole is pretty fun too.)
...and I went into the bathroom to... well, anyway, on the way there I noticed that there was table after table of guys, obviously worker-bees on their lunch break. I was the only chick in that part of the restaurant and more than a few eyes followed my progress to the loo. As I've said on here before guys stare at me all the time. I do make an effort with my appearance, and I won't pretend that I don't like it. But I've never thought I was quite attractive enough to warrant all that attention. I mean, my sex-hair is only half-way grown out and I surely am not the only one who thinks my ass is too big. However, I'm used to the lookie-loos, and it strokes the old ego.
Well, on the way back this guy who was sitting at a table with about five guys and surrounded by these tables full of other guys dropped the lid to his ketchup. It landed next to my left foot. So I knelt down to get it. When I stood back up to give it to him, not only were all the guys at that table looking at me, which I guess I would expect, but the other tables had gone sort of ... quiet. I looked around (it takes longer to tell it, really) to find that nearly every guy in that aisle was staring at me.
Heat of embarrassment rose from my chest like a crimson dawn. My wardrobe flashed thorugh my mind. Had I unwittingly shown off my incredibly tiny chest to about twenty guys at Red Robin?
Nope. For once I didn't have on a v-neck shirt.
No short skirt either, just jeans and my favorite black motorcycle boots.
But stare they did and all because I gave this guy back his lid to his ketchup. I'm sure it was just for a second, but I froze under all those eyes. Then I sort of lifted my chin and marched on through the stares, feeling suddenly more like a desert tray than a mom trying to have lunch with my kid.
I didn't mind walking through the crowd of guys before, enjoyed it when I was just passing through. But I ain't into putting on a show, even if the show is only picking up something off the floor. That was... sort of mortifying. Actually, very mortifying.
Maybe there was tp stuck to my boot? Nope, I checked.
Tp. Hehehe. One time I went on a date with this way cutie-patootie (just friends, my ass. Do friends make out with friends? Man, was he a good kisser...) and it was a geek party. So I did it up: glasses with tape, ratty hair with odd stick-out braids, tp out my waistband, ugly skirt, mismatched buttons, socks to my knees; the works. We supped at this motorcycle bar across the river - best burgers in college - and when I went to get a beer at the bar this harley-dude told me how hot I was. I laughed and went back to my table and told the people I was with about it - it's a funny, ha ha - but the guy I was with said, "Well, you are."
He nodded solemnly. "Even now."
It was about then we quit being just friends.
But honestly, I'm not that great. I don't get it. I mean, I'm regularly horny, but most of the time I'm not thinking about that. Is there a sign on my freakin' back or what?
But back to Red Robin, I had to take MonkeyLass with me to the loo the next time (two trips minimum for every lunch out with a two year old) and damned if they didn't do it again. Not quite to the degree they had before, but it was noticable. I thought I was imagining it, but Monkey confirmed it. Of course, she thought the attention was all for her, and she skipped and flirted and said hi to every table while I just stuck with what had worked for me before and went red again.
Boy, Virtigo, that chick at the strip club that tried to get me to dance that time was sure barking up the wrong tree, huh? But MonkeyLass... well, if college doesn't work out then she just may have a bright future on a pole.