"Why does mine have sprinkles and yours doesn't?" Kimberly asks peering over at my milkshake.
"Probably 'cause the waiter is in love with you, like always," I reply. It wouldn't be the first time. A group of Boy Scouts once offered her their boat, even though she did not ask and had not mentioned any need for a boat.
"But he got our milkshakes mixed up!" she exclaimed suddenly. "The sprinkles must've been meant for you."
I laughed. And blushed, probably. I turn red at the slightest embarrassment.
When the waiter came back with our cards and the checks for us to sign, Kimberly was in the bathroom. And he (awkwardly) tries to talk to me, saying, "You look so young in [the picture on my debit card]! It's really cute!" Such awkward attempts at flirting are not attractive.
Oh dear. I guess those sprinkles were for me.
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