Four stars.

I'm impressed, peeps. If I had known my thoughts were this popular, I would've started speaking my mind years ago!

So  it was back to the grind of Cracker Barrel today. I'd worked some of the weekend, but I was too sick to do much...my cough sounded similar to the noises of feeding time at Sea World...turns out guests aren't that interested in having a waitress on oxygen.

I am one of those "adapt to your environment" waitresses. Normally we get a sense of our guest before we approach the table. We can hear them talking to the host, see them walking into the restaurant, and I'm not gonna lie, we strive to please....and empty your wallet. So if I hear a group of Southerners traveling up North for the holidays, I'm bound to walk up to the table with my Paula Deen smile and say, "Hey ya'll, ya'll want some bacon and sweet tea?" Gets 'em every time. I'm even ashamed to say that when being presented with those of European accent, I might've asked if they "cared for a spot o' tea and some buttermilk crumpets?" The economy's rough, people, work with me here.

Also, a few of you have asked me to explain the "stars" on here. When you begin working at a Cracker Barrel, you are called a "Rising Star"...yes, an older gentleman once thought I was an Indian and that my parents had actually named me this. After a few months pass, you take a test, which asks questions such as, "When you have four guests at a table, and each of them get biscuits and cornbread with their meal, how many butters will you give them?" THIS IS NOT A JOKE. If you pass, boom! Another star. A few months after that, the same thing, and so on and so forth until you get four stars. The brown aprons are for employees, the maroon ones are for employees that train people. So there ya go! You're a Cracker Barrel College genius now. :)

I had a nice gentleman eat breakfast and leave me a swell tip today, and also a phone number. Now, as flattering as that is, I turn off my mojo when I waltz into said restaurant. Sorry, beaus and suitors, but I m not in the mood to flirt in a button down Oxford shirt, some worn out black pants, and an apron with my name on it. "Ah, Kendra's the name....what a lovely name....how's the mansion?" There it is, the Hef joke. My parents gave me this name having no idea during the prime of my single years I would be sharing it with a popular Playboy bunny, so I can't despise them for it.

Call it bad timing. Since eye-rolling is not an option when they haven't tipped you yet, I just smile and nod, pretending like I won't be charging them extra for their meal.

Finals are over! I passed! On to a new semester in exactly one month. My final eval with my instructor consisted of words of wisdom, common critique, and the phrase, "You'll be fine, Kendra. You're weird, but it works for you."

All right.

Wait, I'm sorry?

I'm weird?!?!

You know what? I could spend time wondering what she meant by that, but as I sat watching Pixar's Brave, eating popcorn out of a mixing bowl, and scrolling through one-bedroom apartments in Thailand, I kind of got what she was saying. The Bible says, "I'm fearfully and wonderfully made." That's pretty apparent when you study the human body, but it's something more than that. I'm positive that God likes weird, or else He might get kind of bored. ;)