I didn’t tell you this yet: I chase the sun. I chase a photo opportunity. I chased a marching band down a side street in Bologna. I literally was mid-forkful when the band of violin, accordion, and guitar turned the corner. “Watch my stuff.” And I was off, navigating cobblestone streets in red heels. I had to find the front of the line to get the shot. And once I did, I smiled so wide it almost hurt. I love that I’ve found something inside myself that, all bullshite aside, really makes me happy. It makes me happy not because I think it should, but because it really, really does. Someone saw that; his name was… good question.
He stopped his car and got out. “Excusi, what is your name? I must, must know.”
“Stephanie.”
“Stephanie, I never do this.” Right, and I’m an idiot. “The car made me stop. I must speak to you. I see your smile and your face, and I know your passion.” Oh man, they so said Italian men would do this. “I must have a drink with you. You are magnificent.” Okay, he’s talking my language.
“Well I am having dinner at Rosa Rose with my friend.”
“I will park the car and meet you. I must.” And he does. I tell him I will meet him on the corner, but I don’t. I drink my wine and enjoy my night. Then he approaches and says, “Please, I know you. I know you need a strong man who knows how to tell you “no.” I know you need to love a man for who he is, not just for how much he loves you. He has to give you room to shine, but he has to be strong too. I love your passion. I see the fire pouring from you.” Oh my god, he really does speak my language.
“I’m not a putana. I will not kiss you.” Just in case he thinks this is going somewhere.
“Please. This never happens, and of course now, I meet you. I drive in my car, yes. Then boom. I see you. I decide I must know you. And of course you leave tomorrow. I must have this moment. I already know I love your mind.” Okay, Italians watch way too many movies. Maybe even I should lay off the chick flicks.
“Sorry. I am tired and need to spend time with my friend. Goodnight.” And that’s all there is to tell. In moments of such passion, I used to be tempted. I used to “what if” it to death. Bottom line, he wouldn’t have chased a fat tapered jeans lady down the street had she been passionate for the shot. Fact is, it takes time to fall. Fact is, for the first time in my life, no bullshite, I’m 100% happy. And I don’t need a man to be here. It’s a wonderful feeling, not having to bullshite.
