You: plaid-shirted server at my favorite out-of-the-way, moderately priced eatery
Me: girl at the head of the table of giggling women and one man
You kicked my foot, but you apologized/were cute, so I was fine with it. I will, however, take you down (if you're into that kind of thing). You may have overheard the part where the one gentleman at our table (the S.O. of one of our intimidating number) told a story re: someone shitting herself during a race. This is our idea of classy dinner conversation.