I’m sitting in my third airport of the day: Chicago O’ Hare. Let me just catch you up so you understand my level of exhaustion.
My red dress was too perfect for leaving a lasting impression. Upon arrival to our final dinner, we indulged in a buffet of Italian cuisine common in the region. It was delicious to say the least. A waiter working behind the buffet took a real liking to me. Don’t get excited. He was 50-something, overweight, and balding…but kind nonetheless! He kept calling me over to the drink counter and making me free drinks. It started with a bottle of Prosecco that he generously offered to me and no one else which was strange…and then he started making me cocktails. Such service and I don’t even know why. There were so many gorgeous girls around. Why me? Does he think I’m a fish? I couldn’t possibly have drunk everything he handed off to me. I’d be dead!
I casually handed them off to my friends and classmates. We all benefited from his generosity!
All the students were in their finest: Salvatore Ferragamo loafers, Versace dresses, DKNY mini-dresses, Armani dress shirts, and the like. We looked quite classy for a “group of Americans” who are generally not known for the fashion sense…but we disproved that theory. Hell, we looked better than most of the Italians.
After dancing and enjoying our classmates company one last time, we were offered the option of remaining inside the club instead of having to exit and wait in line. Thank goodness! Last time I had to wait in line it was a nightmare! Hundreds, if not a thousand, of people waiting like cattle. Glad I didn’t have to experience that again!
My friends and I danced all night. We walked around and checked out all the Italian men one last time. I don’t know why tonight felt so special, but it did. We felt like movie stars. People were following us around the club, inviting us on yachts, offering to buy us drinks, asking for our phone numbers, and all sorts of crazy stuff. At one point I found my friend and I surrounded by 10 eager Italian men. They would speak broken English to me and I’d reply in nearly perfect Italian. They, including my friends, were impressed to say the least!
I like my guys aggressive. It was before the club closer that a tall and handsome Italian emerged though the ten eager Italians. He grabbed my hand and led me away from them saying in perfect Italian-accented English, “Oh, those Italian men are all the same aren’t they?”
He led me to the side where we looked back to see the ten Italian men looking disappointed. He reached out his hand, “Luca.” I LOVE that name. I met a Luca in Firenze, but he was a jerk!
We talked for the better part of the night. When the club closed, he walked me slowly back to my hostel. It was then that his friends passed and he smiled joyously, “Yes, it is love! We are in love.” I laughed sheepishly and then he looked at me again. He kissed me. Ha! I got my final Italian kiss just as my friends joked! He said, “It is with great sadness that I must see you go.” Little does he know, this isn’t goodbye. It’s never goodbye. Italy is my second home.
A smile still glued to my face, I entered my dorm room to see eager roommates wanting to know everything. I smiled, “What time is it?”
“We have 15 minutes to be changed and downstairs ready for the bus.”
I didn’t even have time to wash my face. I threw my clothes on (jean shorts, white tank, vintage scarf, and gunmetal gray high fashion windbreaker), checked for anything unpacked, and threw my suitcase down those 106 stairs, I was on the bus at 3:30am sharp. This is how my morning went: 2 hour bus ride, Genoa airport, flight from Genoa to Roma, 2 hour lay over, flight from Roma to Chicago, a lot of turbulence, and a screaming 17 month old baby. Now, as if I’m not feeling enough like an exhausted rock star…5-hour flight back to Los Angeles!
CALIFORNIA, HERE WE COME!