Teller of Stories

Have I told you about the time a waiter asked me if I was over eighteen, and then, after everyone had laughed enough and I was done being awkwardly flattered, called me Sir?

There really is nothing quite like being mistaken for a young man in his late teens when you're a tall busty lady just trying to order one measly Mimosa. The waiter, I'm afraid to say, didn't return to our table after the incident.

Poor chap looked so flustered. I hope he's OK now.

My Mother also seems to think that I look like a boy, so maybe it's just me.