More and more I find that morning coffee or breakfast time is when my tender sensibilities are most likely to be assaulted.
First, it was people talking on their cell phones in coffee houses. I haven't even bothered to tell you about the barking dogs and deaf owners I've had to put up with lately. But now, for something completely different, the latest annoyance is, a waitress in low-rise jeans.
I know, even I'm surprised that I'm complaining about this.
It happened on the morning after Thanksgiving. I had been in L.A. for the holiday and we had stayed over. For breakfast we decided to try Toast Cafe on Third Street in West Hollywood.
I had read a good review of the place and sure enough it was packed at 10 am on Friday. We were given a table right away and I was studying the menu when all of a sudden, it's welcome to the navel academy!
Our waitress, who could very well be an unemployed actor, has suddenly appeared and is wearing a pair of those low rise denim jeans, the kind that sit very low on the hips.
With me seated and her standing, that belly button is coming in at just about eye level.
Thank goodness they're paying the woman enough to afford a bikini wax.
(And if you're reading this over your morning coffee or breakfast, I apologize.)
Between her low-rise jeans and her high-rise tee shirt, I'm being treated to more white meat than I saw at Thanksgiving dinner the night before.
Look, I have no objection to a tumescent tummy, but isn't it a bit early for this? I haven't even had my morning coffee yet! The server's outfit has me wondering, did she come here straight from her shift as a cocktail waitress at a Sunset Strip nightclub?
There's a time and place for everything. If I'm at some poolside bar at a Vegas hotel, I fully expect to see the waitresses' midriff. But over breakfast, pork bellies are the only bellies that I want to see.
Let me know what you think.
I took Thanksgiving week off but while I was gone, a couple of things happened that I thought were worthy of comment.
First, Tiger Woods never struck me as the type of guy who would set out from the house at 2:30 in the morning in search of beer and cigarettes.
And, I never would have guessed that crashing a White House party would be easier than crashing the VIP parties at the Santa Barbara Film Fest.
© 2009 by Craig Smith and www.craigsmithsblog.com
