I love Tom Waits. Dare I say, I'm in love at him.
Today I said to myself, "I really really would like to meet Tom Waits." But I realized that if I were to meet him, he would say to himself, "Self, this girl could in no way appreciate what it is that I do. She is decades too young, and takes the time to petty her life with things like red hair-dye and Forever 21 clothing. No, she doesn't understand. I'm insulted."
But he would be wrong. At my tender age I feel as though I've experienced much than the average college student.
And moreover, I know the ways of the diner. I've worked the night shift. I've had my morning regulars. I've known their early-morning desires before they've been uttered. I've poured more cups of coffee than I can recall.
I've been the waitress with Maxwell House eyes, marmalade thighs, and scrambled yellow hair.
What I'm saying is:
Mr. Waits, if you're out there in cyber-space, I pray that someday I can do something to return the joy you've given me.
Something legal... and chaste.