Qwellie

SO, today my friend Laura and I spent the day in Firenze. It was an awesome day. We chilled at the Palazzo Pitti and the gardens. Strolled to Piazza San Croce and had gelato at Vivoli. Yummy. Then we wandered about the Duomo and then did some mild shopping at the San Lorenzo market. All in all a good time.

And then we took the train back. We ended up sitting opposite two men in suits that were either lawyers or accountants (we both heard different things) of the age 45 to 50. They start talking to us and we can't really find a way to not talk. So, we spend the hour talking to them in Italian and I'm only vaguely creeped out, but whatever. Was annoyed to learn that they worked in Bologna in the Piazza Maggiore (like the main square of the city). Anyway, we arrive (thank god) and they offer to share a cab to our appartments. We decline, politely, explaining that we live close to the station.

So we are in the clear. Right? RIGHT? no. Of course not right.

We are about home free...literally feet from exit...in fact, I'm already out of the station, when one of the guys grabs Laura's arm. He asks if we would be interested in getting something to eat. Oh, but we have plans. Well, that is OK, says he, we could all meet up for a coffee or lunch some day in maggiore.

Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmno.

Laura already has her phone out to call our friend Max when the guy suggusts that he give her his phone number. Laura is all "er, ok" and was planning on just taking it and erasing it when he grabs the phone, puts in his number, calls his phone, gets her number and then we all say goodbye again.

:(

So, as a result, I'm dying my hair black, piercing my nose, becomming a punkabestia, and now going by the name Fatima.

Or maybe that is an overreaction....