super cool handwarmers (and why you should always carry knitting needles when drinking alone)

This past weekend I found myself drinking alone in Phoenix. I was visiting a friend but had an afternoon to myself. So I decided to settle in on the outdoor patio of a Tex-Mex place. After a spell, I spied my waiter. He was on his own, taking care of the entire patio and the beads of sweat along his hairline betrayed his forced cheer.

Harried Sweaty Waiter: "Welcome to [Tex Mex Restaurant in Phoenix]! Is this your first time dining with us?"

Me: "Yes. I'd like the Top Shelf Commemorativo Margarita."

HSW: "I really like the Orange Beso instead."

Me: "Oh."

HSW: "It's got fresh orange juice, Grand Marnier and prickly pear cactus juice."

Me: "No offense, but that sounds gross."

He smiles tightly.

HSW: "The Commemorativo is good too."

Me: "Great. I'll take it. And can I order some food too?"

HSW: "Alright, but I may try to talk you out of it."

I think this is the oddest tactic a waiter could employ, especially one that is so busy he's SWEATING. I guess not too busy to spend time judging a customer's menu selections.

Me: "Wow. Okay. I'll take the blackened chicken caesar salad with avocado."

He squints at me for a beat.

HSW: "Hmmm....that's okay. But the crab enchiladas are better."

Me: "Nope, not really into that. I'll stick with the caesar."

HSW: "If you say so."

I'm glad he approves.

The margarita arrives and despite the fact that it is the size of my head, I spend the next twenty minutes burning off at least half of its calories fighting off scrappy pigeons who keep making a run (fly?) for my chip basket. Brazen little bastards.

Sweaty stops by again to make small talk.

HSW: "So, are you here for the marathon this weekend?"

Me: "Yeah. Me and this margarita are gonna try and beat our best time."

He looks at me, deadpan.

Me: "Just kidding. I'm not here for the marathon. Hey, do you always have trouble with the birds here?"

He pauses and looks like he might lie to me but then concedes.

HSW: "Yeah, we do."

He looks over to the table next to mine where a few of them are conspiring to attack.

HSW: "Huh. Ha Ha! That one looks like he was dipped in oil."

I follow his pointy finger to see a greasy, sickly one attempting to choke down a chip triangle. There is not a more vile thing to behold. I hurry down my salad with my right arm while defending it with my left. After leaving me to fend for myself, he comes back a while later with the check and to set down a small plate.

HSW: "We have a dessert for you, compliments of the chef: white chocolate pecan tamales."

Me: "Oh, thanks. How nice."

HSW: "Here. Let me show you how to eat them. I'm really hungry myself so I'll show you."

No joke. He picks up one of my gift tamales, peels off the husk and pops the chocolate into his mouth.

HSW: "See? Just like that."

I wish I'd had some knitting with me. I'd have brandished a couple needles and poked the pesky birds and the irritating waiter. Both needed to learn some serious boundaries.

Thank God the margarita took the edge off.

Aren't these handwarmers great? I whipped up a couple pairs of these for some presents last Christmas and they were so satisfying to make. And so stinking cute with that little thumb hole. I could hardly stand the cuteness.

BTW, I used this pattern and the same yarn, Classic Elite tweed.

xoxo
jolie

*P.S. A group of pigeons is called a kit. Which sounds helpful or organized or fun, none of which are true about those assholes.