After weeks of waiting, the results are in: you've been accepted to the university of your dreams. To celebrate, your parents have taken you out to dinner tonight.

The atmosphere is cosy, family-like. You sip your drink, absent-mindedly gazing at the waiter who passes between the tables. He's tall. Well built. Muscular arms protrude from the rolled-up sleeves of his black shirt. A smile that could end a war. A real heartthrob, no more, no less. And you have the misfortune to think it out loud:

"The waiter's not bad at all."

Your father suddenly raises his hand. You have a bad feeling. The waiter walks to your table, a tray of dishes in his hand. And that's when your father decides to ruin your life, telling him:

"My daughter thinks that you are so cute.”

You let out a squeak, cover your face with your hands and dive under the table. You're mortified. Wish the floor could swallow you.