I’ve just returned home from a fantastic week in Northern Italy, kid free, thanks to the help of my parents. Did I mention they are no longer speaking to me? Anyway, I wanted to share a bit about my trip with all of you. I could easily go on and on about the beauty of Venice, the quaint town of Mantova, the shopping in Verona, the art in Florence and the charm of the Italian people, but I won’t. Instead, I’d like to share a few simple observations.
The people are all drop dead gorgeous. There’s not a bad one in the bunch. Even the beggars are stunning. This sort of makes me hate them.
Not a soul is overweight. They eat tons of carbs and still remain thin. I’m not sure how they pull this off. After a week of dining on Italian food, I needed a shoe horn and a can of Crisco to fit into my jeans. I wish this was an exaggeration.
While having drinks in a friend’s home, I stupidly referred to my 100-year-old home as old. After bursting into hysterics, they shared with me that their home was built in the early 1500’s. Let’s just say, stuff there is really old.
Wine is served with every meal. I’m considering moving based on this fact alone. If you cut me right now, I would bleed Chianti. However, my passion about drinking my fair share of wine while in Italy had a major downside.
Yes, this is the stuff of nightmares. Using the restroom is not for the faint of heart. This was my biggest dilemma while traveling through Italy. Unless you are a contortionist, this act will not end well. Enough said.
The quickest way to achieve a full-blown anxiety attack, besides using the restroom, is as a passenger of an Italian driver. They make crazy New York drivers seem like kittens. Our driver blew down the highway doing 120 miles per hour. Is it any wonder I felt compelled to drink wine with breakfast?
No matter what the weather, everyone wears pants. You will not see an Italian bare leg anywhere. The idiot in the skirt would be me. I never got the “Pants Only” memo. I’m lucky they let me in.