Did I mention I'm a waitress?
The deuce at table seven is this little curly-haired girl and her daddy. She’s all Osh-gosh-B-gosh overalls and blonde pigtails, and as I set her pancakes down she looks up from the intricate architecture she’s assembling out of individual creamer and butter packets and says, “daddy, can I stick my fingers in your ears?” The dad is nonchalant, as if she’s asked a perfectly everyday question, and says, “can you thank you the lady for the pancakes first, please?” and she looks up at me all angel-like, says “thank you for my pancakes,” and then the eyes are back on dad. He nods, she scoots off the seat and walks over to him. He leans down and she sticks one little index finger in each of his ears. They look at each other for a second. The she giggles, goes back to her breakfast, and after work I go home and call my dad.