i don’t lie, i accesorize

[facts in this story may have been changed to protect the innocent]

a year ago, or so, the ladies in my office went to a certain little italian restaurant for someone’s birthday lunch. I don’t recall who’s birth we were celebrating, or if there was a birth at all or if we were just hungry. i should make something up for entertainment value, here. um…….we were celebrating my audition for american idol being a complete success, and my upcoming fame….(is it true? is it a lie? omg! i don’t know!)

so there we were at olive garden, mom/boss and i fighting over something that i can’t recall. (i feel like i have told you all this story before, but…i can add more to the story today, so if you have already heard it, just…bare with me. i re-tell stories all the time. and each time they get a twee more accessorized, so maybe you will hear something new…)

(i am feeling very parenthetical today.) (look at all of these parenthesis (i bet Mrs Miller would be proud of my correct use of the double parenthesis (if i did it right….which i am not sure)))

so there we were fighting in the olive garden, playfully. the waitress walked up in the middle of our argument and mom points to me like a toddler and whines

“make her be nice to me! i am old enough to be her sister!”
me: “whatever, grandma”
mom: “HEY!”
waitress: “you remind me of that girl from will and grace”
me: “the drunk one?:
mom: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA”
waitress: “actually…..yes”
me: ::blank stare::

i reminded her of the alcoholic? i don’t know if i approve of this favor. in fact, i am fairly sure i disapprove entirely. especially because the physical attributes along with the character flaws in that girl are well. they are funny, i give her that. but. most girls want to grow up to be grace…or at least will (depending…). but most of us don’t think when we are young “i sure hope that i grow up to be the rich, alcoholic, lazy, drunk”. (although? the more i think about it, the more this plan is sounding appealing)

henceforth, on the handful of times we have lunched at olive garden since then, we have seen her and she always comes up to me and asks how i am and suggests that we sit in her section. and, today, we had every intention of asking her to be our waitress. as we walked into the restaurant, the guy at the front stood ready and at attention to serve us.

“BUONGIORNO!!!!”he shouts to us while waving his arm in the air like an american actor playing an italian would in a movie, quite obviously pleased with himself for speaking italian in an italian restaurant.

quickly, knowing little (or no….) italian, i had to respond….

“QUE PASO, ITALIANO!?!?!?!”i purr to him, sounding every ounce as italian as i am irish.

“oh…i don’t really speak italian….” he said. obviously defeated at my extensive knowledge in the language of love.

“oh. too bad.”i said. but? unfortunately, that wasn’t italian at all. that was spanish. (hopefully you caught on to that. he didn’t)

…there was a point to this story somewhere…but it was lost in translation.
sorry. um. que paso, americano?

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