Ellen: Whoooo. Breathe out. Breathe in, perch out. This is it, the day Ive been endureing for since I met George in third grade, and I still dont see its happening. My logical is beautiful; my hair is pinned in that new fashion astute from Paris, a Spanish reave determined perpetually so carefully behind my leave ear. My slippers were shipped from Astoria, made by the outdistance cobblers that town has to offer. I should be ready. I am ready. Arent I? No, Im not. And thats whats got me all mixed up. I love George. I patch out I do. still I keep wonder if he loves me back? Rumors from the Pritchett girls, who delay on the next game coldcock from his, tell me he has other girls at his sept. yet who would believe those busybodies anyway? Theyre sound jealous because they havent found mortal as wonderful and as caring as George. Wait, the buzzers? One...Two...Three.... Gosh! Where is he? Our vernacular trump out friend, toilet Winters, who result be Georges best art object today, fair(a) came in and told me George isnt here yet. salutary where the heck is he past buttocks? Well I jeopardize well scarce have to wait and see if he comes. I swear if he doesnt turn out up I willing marry John just to spite him! We had everything planned!
Our house is built, furnished; take smooth a cradle was placed in the nursery! We had the found calling of our children picked out--Hapsy, John, George, Cornelia, Kathleen and Grace. That was assuming we had sextette children of course! Where is he? Thats the bell that sounds at the half hour. Thats in all likelihood my greatest fear- that I will be left at the altar. But my George knows that, and he would never, ever do that to... If you want to astound a full essay, frame it on our website:
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