Sitting at a table closest to the cliff sits my boyfriend and I, gazing at the radiant view of the sea. Jack is wearing a jet-black tuxedo with a blood red dress shirt underneath the jacket, and I am wearing a long, flowing black, fitted, strappy velvet gown with black satin slippers and a small silver diamond necklace. My hair is gently stirred by the constant trade winds of the Caribbean, adding an almost eerie effect to the mood.
As the two of us sit down to eat, we are befuddled with the exquisitely prepared meal set before us. The main course sits near the center of our table, just inches away from the candle. It is a large, wooden bowl filled with salad from The Olive Garden and mixed with their own, homemade dressing. At each of the two place settings that we sit, there is a large plate of angel-hair pasta topped with just the right amount of delicious marinara sauce, and sprinkled with only the best parmesan cheese. Next to the wooden salad bowl in the center of the table on the opposite side of the candle, there is a small wicker basket filled with Olive Garden breadsticks, covered by a thin flowered napkin. This fine meal is just begging to... [continues]
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(1999, 10). My Dream Meal. StudyMode.com. Retrieved 10, 1999, from http://www.studymode.com/essays/My-Dream-Meal-16420.html
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"My Dream Meal." StudyMode.com. 10, 1999. Accessed 10, 1999. http://www.studymode.com/essays/My-Dream-Meal-16420.html.