I know–I cheated. This prompt demanded that I type out ten words that are on my mind and choose three to make the title of my post. My title’s a little longer than three words. Sorry suckers, but I’m going off to college tomorrow. I’ve done a lot of packing. There’s still more to do. It’s been a hectic week with all this shopping, all this worrying, all this saying goodbye for now, hello for later. “Good luck,” said the Olive Garden waitress. Or so she frosted the side of the plate containing our celebration cake. “Good luck,” said my mom, my dad, my everyone else.
So if you’ll please excuse my longer title, I think we’ll get off to a great start.
Tonight, my last night at home, we went to the Olive Garden with Maureen and Gerry. As everyone already knows, they’re wonderful people, and I think you should meet them in your spare time.
Sorry if my writing today seems scattered. It’s hard to type when your nail polish is drying.
Regardless, we had the best waitress ever. I’d recommend her no matter what size your party. Her name is Brittany. She originates from the north. And no, this is not pre-Civil War language. She comes from the northern area of my state, where the hillbillies reside.
She took up a long chat with our group. In fact, she invented some sort of club, which the females in our party were allowed to join–only for our good looks. Our table was roaring with laughter. We enjoyed my final evening in my home town, of course, at the local Olive Garden. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Good luck,” said the Olive Garden waitress, Brittany.
“I’ll do my best,” I typed.