"Can I get my Coke and an ice water now?"

The waitress turned and nodded to me. "It'll be about 10 minutes, sweetheart," she said.

I looked across to where she stood at the counter. I couldn't quite read the embroidered name on her blouse -- she had enough buttons open so the collar drooped down and obscured part of her name. "Do you think I could get that Coke?" I asked. "And a glass of ice water too?" I wiped my brow with a handkerchief.

"Sure, honey," she said. As she turned to fix up my drinks, I could see damp patches on the back of her striped uniform blouse. As hot as the diner felt to me, at least I wasn't running around working in the heat. I wondered how the woman running the stove was feeling. It wouldn't surprise me if she was frying my cheeseburger while stripped down to her undies and apron.

That image put a smirk on my face that was still there my waitress returned. Light-footed, I didn't notice she had come with the drinks until the condensation-dewed, curvy classic Coke glass slid onto the Formica tabletop in front of me. Startled, I put on a friendlier smile and looked round to thank her, holding out my hand before I realized that a cold glass of ice water was right where my hand was moving.

The glass flipped and splashed water.