If The Coffee Shop Waitress Touches Your Palm When She Gives You Your Change, She Totally Wants It Day!

It's just common knowledge. There is a provocative manner of giving a man his change just as surely as there is a chaste one. A lady of virtue whose heart belongs to another would do her best to draw the man's hand open flat with its palm to the sky so that she might allow her hand to hover no less than three inches above his, in perfect position to drop the change into his hand without so much as an exchange of body heat. And then she might choose to squat low behind the counter and recite the Lord's prayer and perhaps cut into herself with pens.

And then there is the whore. She with her skirt sewn of various different thrift-store purchased college letterman sweaters and her hair mussed into just the state of frenzy to imply a love for, as well as a distrust of, emo music. She with her belly button naked as a bikini clad three year old's and her long-john top rising higher up her torso with every reach for the shelf supporting the pint-sized cappucino mugs. Such a woman has no qualms about allowing her fingers to graze and slither along the sweat laden palms of any boy who might be game for such a dalliance (and such boys are plentiful, I assure you). She could allow the change to drop from her grasp or even leave the change on the counter and pull herself out of reach before her customer's hand might have the chance to brush against her own when he oh so innocently reaches to retrieve his change.

"Reaches to retrieve his change" indeed!

A tramp who would be refused audience by Jesus himself, it's as if she doesn't even realize she's doing it. She'll just drop her hand into your own and let her fingers scrabble about in the flesh for as long as it takes to open her fingers and release the difference of price and cash tendered. She sometimes does it without even making eye contact. Perhaps she prefers it so. Perhaps she finds it painful to look anyone in the eye, for fear she might see a reflection of herself there, in her fallen state of moral disrepair. Such a woman might seem to not care for conventional moral code or precautionary measures to avoid transmission of communicable disease, but rest assured, she is aware of the letter emblazoned on her bosom and she would give her life to have it sewn over, perhaps from the fabric of another thrift-store bought college letterman sweater. If you meet such a woman, pity her. And if when you pay for your cup of tea you feel the heat of her fingertips against your palm, you're totally gonna get laid.

Happy If The Coffee Shop Waitress Touches Your Palm When She Gives You Your Change, She Totally Wants It Day!