Just thinking about Mamma Mia's spaghetti made Julie's mouth water. It tasted so vibrant, so wonderful, and it came in such large portions! Although she hadn't changed out of her cream-colored sweater, she gave no thought of delaying her departure. She had returned home from work not thirty minutes ago, and she put her black pumps right back on and grabbed her purse. Her shoes felt tight, her sweater hot, but none of that seemed to matter as much as getting to the restaurant. She practically flew out the door, not even bothering to lock it.
The drive was short, but her stomach had begun to grumble loudly, almost angrily. Even from the parking lot, she could smell the frying garlic and olive oil, the thousands of calories cooking away, the dishes of the happy diners, all taunting and beckoning her. Once inside, however, a mild feeling of panic rose inside her. There were a number of people waiting in the foyer, and through the doorway to the dining room she could see how busy they were.
Julie approached the hostess stand. A harried-looking teenager stood behind it, phone to her ear, scrawling a reservation down. When she hung up the phone, she looked up at Julie. "How many?" she asked.
"Just me," Julie said.
"It's going to be about 30 to 40 minutes, unless," she said, gesturing through the doorway to the small table at the very front of the dining room, "you're okay with this table here. It's sometimes a little loud, though."
"Oh, that'd be perfect," Julie replied, sounding somewhat relieved.
The hostess led Julie to the table and sat her facing the rest of the room. Servers weaved in between the sea of tables, balancing armloads laden with dishes of food. Julie's mouth began to water again. "Here's our list of specials," the girl said, "and your server should be right with you. Enjoy your dinner."
Julie opened the menu.