Nope, I’m nowhere near California. I know a number of people wish I were, but sadly, no.
And yeah, Olive Garden was already a sitcom punchline by that time, but we were in our early twenties, and had neither the cash nor the palates for fine dining. It was already awkward enough that work had put us up at the Ritz-Carlton, and our luggage was… exactly what you’d expect from a couple of kids without rich parents. The last thing we needed was to embarrass ourselves at an upscale restaurant.
So I settled for OG —I had the fra diavolo, I think— and making her walk a couple blocks back to the car with my cum running down her leg.