Pure Gold

That's how I described it to her. I had told some joke and she thought it was quite lame. Perhaps I was feeling defensive, or perhaps it had just dawned on me, myself, but whatever the cause I launched into an explanation of why I tell so many jokes. Why I'm always trying to entertain.

Earlier in the evening the cocktail waitress came over and asked if anyone needed anything. I never drink so I always purchase entertainment from waitresses instead. I usually tip a dollar for every water I get, and then more if they play along with whatever inane crap I come up with that night.

This particular waitress was wearing a white T-shirt with big red lip prints on it and the words KISS ME. She also happened to have a lollipop in her mouth when she came over and checked on us.

"Doesn't the stick get in the way?"

Maybe she saw me looking at her chest, because she knew exactly what I meant and she said that in fact, it did.

"Ah! My father told me about women like you. He said, 'Brian, there are women in this world that will give you mixed messages, but you just pay attention to the lollipop and don't worry about what the shirt says.' I had no idea what the fuck my father was talking about, but it all makes sense to me now."

I wish she had been drinking beer at the time, because it surely would have come out her nose. The waitress was less amused, but it didn't matter. That kind of laugh is the reason I'll always take the risk of telling a failed joke.

I struck pure gold, and so when I told a stinker a little while later, I simply explained why it didn't matter.