She took the bar stool next to mine and ordered two Date Grapes. When the bartender came back with the drinks, she asked him what he thought she was dressed as for Halloween.
"I don't know". He paused and gave her a good look. "Some kind of ginger . . . flight attendant?"
"No!", she exclaimed, her red curls bobbing slightly as she over-exagerrated a shake of the head. Her outfit had a satin-like sheen to it - navy blue with touches of red along the edges. The neckline appeared to take a southbound plunge, but it wasn't clearly visible from my current angle. "No one can figure it out. They keep saying trampy flight attendent or a trampy nurse."
The bartender had to move on to other customers. Still wanting to finish her train of thought, she turned to me and - assuming correctly that I was paying attention - continued her conversation.
"And, I mean, yeah, of course, I'm dressed like a tramp - that's kinda my thing - but I don't understand how it can be so difficult to figure out what I'm dressed up as."
I set down my beer and turned fully towards her.
"You're a sailor."
"YES!! Yes - finally! Why can't anyone else figure it out?"
"Dunno. It was my first thought the moment I saw you. The sailor hat pretty much gives it away." With her now turned towards me as well, and with a full view of the plunging neckline, I gathered that most men who had seen her this evening never got their eyes around to seeing the white cap on her head. And if my first view of her would have been straight-on instead of from the side, I'm sure I would have fumbled my way through an incorrect guess just like the rest of them.
"Exactly. Goddamn, people are stupid."
"Pretty much."
"I mean, there's a damn anchor sewed on the front." I hadn't noticed that part at all - again, plunging neckline.
"Well, thanks. I'm glad there's at least one person out there who can put two and two together."
"You're welcome."
She picked up both Date Grapes, walked over to a group at a table behind me, and handed off one of the Date Grapes to her friend, a trampy nurse.
"I don't know". He paused and gave her a good look. "Some kind of ginger . . . flight attendant?"
"No!", she exclaimed, her red curls bobbing slightly as she over-exagerrated a shake of the head. Her outfit had a satin-like sheen to it - navy blue with touches of red along the edges. The neckline appeared to take a southbound plunge, but it wasn't clearly visible from my current angle. "No one can figure it out. They keep saying trampy flight attendent or a trampy nurse."
The bartender had to move on to other customers. Still wanting to finish her train of thought, she turned to me and - assuming correctly that I was paying attention - continued her conversation.
"And, I mean, yeah, of course, I'm dressed like a tramp - that's kinda my thing - but I don't understand how it can be so difficult to figure out what I'm dressed up as."
I set down my beer and turned fully towards her.
"You're a sailor."
"YES!! Yes - finally! Why can't anyone else figure it out?"
"Dunno. It was my first thought the moment I saw you. The sailor hat pretty much gives it away." With her now turned towards me as well, and with a full view of the plunging neckline, I gathered that most men who had seen her this evening never got their eyes around to seeing the white cap on her head. And if my first view of her would have been straight-on instead of from the side, I'm sure I would have fumbled my way through an incorrect guess just like the rest of them.
"Exactly. Goddamn, people are stupid."
"Pretty much."
"I mean, there's a damn anchor sewed on the front." I hadn't noticed that part at all - again, plunging neckline.
"Well, thanks. I'm glad there's at least one person out there who can put two and two together."
"You're welcome."
She picked up both Date Grapes, walked over to a group at a table behind me, and handed off one of the Date Grapes to her friend, a trampy nurse.
