“May I take your order, please?” the waitress inquired as she jumped from one foot to the other.
“Do you have any tuna fish sandwiches?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah!” my excitable waitress shouted as she ran off to the next room where, presumably, her kitchen was located.
“Uh, Miss Waitress,” I called, beckoning her back. “May I also have a cup of tea, please?”
With the same exuberance exhibited before, she shouted over her shoulder, “Oh, yeah!”
Within a minute, she had bounded back to my chair, handing me a cup and saucer.
“Is it hot?” I asked.
“Oh, no. I blowed on it. It’s all cool now,” she announced proudly. “And, here’s your tuna fish sandwich,” she said, gesturing to a spot on the tray in front of my chair.
“Thank you, Miss Waitress,” I said. “This is a wonderful restaurant and you do such a good job.”
“Thanks,” she said, swishing her skirt back and forth. After a brief thoughtful pause, my enthusiastic waitress started wind—milling her arms, like a helicopter ready for take—off. “And it’s clean, too!” With that said, she ran to her next customer.
“Missy King, what is your order?”
My mother thought a minute before answering, “I believe that I will have fried chicken and a cup of coffee.”
After twirling around once, the waitress asked. “Do you want some cream for your coffee?”
“Yes, that sounds good,” responded Mom.
“What color do you want?” The wriggling waitress was poised with her pad and pencil, the ones we couldn’t see.
“Color?” asked Mom, trying not to let her bewilderment show.
“What color of cream do you want? The waitress, who was just learning her colors, helped her obviously confused customer. “We have red and blue and green and purple and lellow.”
“Lellow?” my mother asked, lifting her eyebrows.
The dancing waitress nodded her head vigorously.
“I believe that I will have the lellow cream, please,” Mom told Miss Waitress.
Skipping back to her kitchen, the waitress made a quick turn with another “cup and saucer” and ran back to Mom. “Be careful. It’s hot and it’s not blowed on,” she warned.
“Thank you,” Mom told her. “And did you bring my fried chicken?”
Reaching behind her back the bobbing waitress announced. “Oh, sure, and here it is!” Then, after assuring Mom that her fried chicken was now delivered to her tray as promised, Miss Waitress hopped over to the other waiting customer.
“What do you want, Poppa King?” the waitress asked, ready with her invisible pad and pencil.
“May I have a hamburger with lots of onions?” My dad’s inquiry came from behind the newspaper he was reading. He lowered the paper and looked over his glasses at the tiny waitress who was now running in a little circle in front of his chair. “And, how about a glass of milk?” he continued.
“Oh, Yeah,” she shouted, again running to the next room and back to deliver Dad’s order.
Finally satisfied that her work was done, our diminutive waitress stood in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, looking at each of us in turn to make sure we were “eating” our “meals” and “sipping” our “beverages.” Then, suddenly, she threw her arms in the air and jumped up and down with the delight of coming across a wonderful idea.
“Now, you can all have a cookie and say “Bye—Bye” and then you can all go home!” our bouncing waitress announced.
Our dismissal was succinct and final, but I was reluctant to leave the magic of this make—believe restaurant. If you haven’t recently taken the time to attend a playtime “visit to a restaurant, tea party”, or any other imaginary adventure hosted by a 3—year—old, you are missing one of life’s delightful pleasures and privileges.
