<div class="floatleft">(https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/7297/tzuhccaneoolbdb6g.jpg) <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><div align="center"><strong> <span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Steffy – CC</span></strong></div></div><br/>If I’ve been at the edge of quicksand, I am either moving farther away or into it.  Would it be so bad to waitress a bit?  To display my professional curtsy?  To get my bum pinched?  To smile at small tips?  Well yes.  Yes it would.<br/><br/>So here I am.  I’ve clearly not struck gold in my comments about the lads.  Are they even called lads?<br/><br/>I look at Robbie—there is plumage and there are no feathers amiss.  Yet, somehow there’s spitting feathers.  This cannot be literally true.  So it must be some other meaning.  And if I knew, I could use it as more of a deflective device.<br/><br/>Finally, I succumb: “I give up!”  There’s a certain frisson with those three words.  Have I become a bet proposition?  When does Steffy get impressed into waitressing?  And no one has told me!<br/><br/>But that’s not my giving up.  “Spitting feathers means . . . ?”<br/>