In Which I Go Through A Rough Break-Up Over Dinner

Our sprawling flat is on the 3rd floor of a beautiful, old pink building in the Trastevere neighborhood across the street from a church. Our doorway, however, is right beside this:

Of all the ancient religious and historical landmarks I have to choose from in Italy, the one I find myself relying on most often is “Sexy Shop Cobra 5.” 

Before I got to Italy, they told me it was one of those places where its offensive not to finish your entire meal. I told ‘em I’d be just fine and they would laugh a little too knowingly. Sitting down for our first Italian dinner, I had no idea just how wrong I would be. I used my elbows to monopolize the steady flow of appetizers, allowing my companions a couple of scraps here and there. This method would prove fatal when my entree arrived in the form of a family-sized pizza. Turns out you don’t order it by the slice in Italy! I braced myself and began to chew. An hour later I was only halfway through and in the early stages of an existential crisis. 

“How can you love something so much and not want it anymore?!” I sobbed into my pizza. A few sympathetic girls shared their break-up stories in an attempt to provide a beacon of hope at my weakest moment but I was beyond consolation. Across the table, a smug Sarah Lolley was finishing her reasonably sized portion of carbonara, seemingly oblivious to my plight.


I was about to give up, cut my losses, catch the next flight home and never be able to look a pizza in the eye again when a hand reached across the table. I looked up and there was Lolley, munching away. It could have been the street light behind her but I could have sworn I saw a halo. After dinner, we wandered the streets of Rome and then headed back to the Sexy Shop for a well-deserved night’s rest.

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