GUEST POST: The Eye Candy Cafe

I was chatting to my friend Tammy about the great café I’ve been frequenting.

“It’s run by a lovely married couple and it has excellent coffee,” I told her enthusiastically. “I go there all the time!”

Tammy smiled knowingly. “Ah, the Eye-Candy Café. So you’ve got a crush on the waiter too, do you? You’re not the only one.”

I was taken aback. I know the waiter she’s referring to – and he is rather pleasant looking – but I certainly don’t have a ‘crush’, as she suggested. Firstly, because I’m not twelve years old, and secondly because I’m married! And married women don’t have crushes.

I have no need for flirtation because I have a husband. And my husband is my ultimate fantasy man. No spunky young thing could compete with the animal magnetism of my spouse, a vision of charismatic manliness in his frayed boxer shorts, watching Top Gear in bed as he sprays cake crumbs over the sheets, doing that adorable throat-clearing thing he does.

So the waiter at the café has made barely an impression. I’ve hardly noticed his tattooed forearms, permanent stubble, twinkly eyes, or cheeky grin. I go to the café purely for the tattoos… I mean the coffee! The coffee! And they have very good food, too. I’ve only had the tuna sandwich, but it’s really exceptional tuna.

So this talk of a crush is ridiculous. Yes, I’ve chatted to the waiter on one or two occasions, but I’m a chatty kind of girl! And yes, I listen attentively when he replies, with the rapt concentration I usually reserve for cliff-hanging episodes of Desperate Housewives. But that doesn’t mean I have a crush, for goodness sake. The waiter and I just get along well. We have a special connection.

Or at least I thought we did, until Tammy informed me that half the female population of Sydney has that ‘special connection’ with him too.

It was a shocking revelation. Of course, I’d noticed that the café is always teeming with thirty-something women, but I assumed that, like me, they were there for something nice to watch… I mean drink! Drink! It never occurred to me they were there to check out the waiter.

Still, although I can’t relate to their situation at all, not even slightly, I suppose I can understand it if I really try. Sometimes women of a certain age crave some outside stimulation. After a decade or two, the romance in even the strongest of marriages can wane, and even the most attractive of husbands can be mistaken for part of the furniture. At times like this, a smile from a cute waiter can be more stimulating than the strongest cup of coffee, more nourishing than the most delicious tuna sandwich.

Perhaps if my marriage wasn’t so extraordinarily satisfying, I’d be one of those women. If my husband wasn’t so devastatingly handsome, unfailingly attentive, and consistently, unwaveringly romantic, I’d be checking out the waiter too.

As it stands, though, I’m not like those other women. I go to the Eye-Candy Café purely for the food and drink. And I’ll continue to do so, despite my friend Tammy’s cynical intimations. They’ve got gorgeous coffee there. It’s hot! It warms you up, and gives you a lift for the entire day.

And although I have plenty of coffee at home, sometimes I just like to try a different blend. What’s more, as much as I love my good old reliable mug, the one I’ve had for nearly a decade now, sometimes I just like to sip from a different waiter.