Day Thirteen - Marty "The Party"
Demeanor -- Fettucine-like: flowing, free-spirited, approximately 6.5 millimeters wide
Feelings about the Olive Garden -- *mouth full of pasta, no words can escape*
Application for date:
You can see how I was intrigued.
The time is 11:25, far beyond closing hours, but the ad said "neverending", and we're putting that to the test. The waitress stops by with another armful of Coke Zeroes for the two of us. She is long past the point of faux servile politeness, and curtly asks, "More?"
Marty and I nod simultaneously, and resume our gorging.
I've always said that even though I'm a heterosexual male, it's possible that I just haven't met the right guy yet. So when this mysterious man signed up on my site, I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.
I'm not sure who Marty is or where he came from, but what I am sure of is that his love for pasta rivals even my own. We didn't exchange much in the way of words - in fact, the only thing he actually said was "The Party's here!!!" when he arrived twenty minutes late and immediately started working through the breadsticks.
Even so, I think we communicated through the medium of nonstop eating - and isn't that what Olive Garden is all about?
36 more dates to go.
Today's pasta was