Checking in today and doing my duty in posting for a third consecutive day, a feat so incredible it had to be recorded on the internet for all of posterity.
It’s really, really flipping hot today. In lieu of sitting around awaiting our errant AC repairman, I made the dubious decision to load up the troops and schlep down to the Vatican hood to crash Daddy’s office once again for some reverse-sauna treatments.
Regrettably, this decision was made close to naptime, and so while we were cooler, we were not all a happy bunch. About $60 worth of pasta lunch and 2 hours later, I trundled home with my sweating masses, and we were mere meters from our apartment building when bam – or rather, almost bam – a freaking Fiat making an illegal uturn in a taxi lane almost took us out. A visibly pregnant lady sweating her ass off and pushing 100+ pounds of babies and stroller.
Excuse me!! I politely screamed at the top of my lungs, followed up with a much more predictable you asshole because I am a classy non-Italian speaker, I am.
The non-plussed driver didn’t pluss, nor did any of the mildly intrigued passersby. So I grumblingly hauled babies up onto the curb and thundered onward, cursing the Eternal City.
I ducked into our favorite bar to buy 3 consolation popsicles for us to lick our almost-wounds over, and wouldn’t you know it, I was a Euro short.
Damn this backasswards country and their tax-evading mafia-protected businesses and their shady debit-card-refusing policies. I just want to buy my kids some freaking ice cream to celebrate being alive and I don’t have a witch’s coin purse full of freaking gold deblooms on hand, just this suspicious piece of plastic linked directly to my bank account so of COURSE you wouldn’t accept payment in such new-fangled form. Damn you, Italy. But then Carlo, our favorite barista, bought my popsicle.
Italy, I still don’t understand you. Charmed at this moment, but who knows what the next one will hold.