Mardi Gras Girl

Mardi Gras Girl  
    
     “Apologies Sir, but this girl is in training. But don’t let her ankle-length dress and cornfield personality fool you she is plenty wild with the right patron.”    
     The trainee replies, “Sir, don’t listen to her. I am straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting. If I were any more naïve I’d be an Amish wife instead of here where my feminine features are accentuated under the spotlight.”    
     I put a dollar in the tip jar and Iowa girl timbres her thanks deeply.    
     The cornfield girl brings the bagel and coffee to my table. She asks, “Are you finished with your bagel plate.” Before she takes it for me she says, “My trainer gets her panties in a wad. But you like my soft voice. Most men do and women for that matter.”    
     “You are sweeter than Eve’s apple but without the temptation.”    
     “You mean my Ottumwa smile isn’t sweet enough to tempt you?”    
    “Some men desire a homely lady of the house.”    
     “Are you one of those men?”    
     “Are you one of those ladies?”    
     “Your counterpart is well-spoken. Truth be told I can’t cook worth a flip. But I dress the part of a prairie corn grower's wife with flourishes of domestic genius.”  
     “You are accessorized for a character from a Willa Cather novel.”    
     “Seriously? Like out of My Antonia? That book has haunted me to this day.”  
     “This isn’t Kansas anymore.”  
     “But we can pretend it is. Would you like flapjacks for breakfast?”  
     “Beignets for this New Orleans boy.”  
     “Time to retire my dust bowl attire for Mardi Gras. If Catholic girls can go knee length so can I.”    
     “Your virtue will be intact.”  
     “Indeed, a woman’s integrity is in her blouse.”