Naples hosted its first International Film Festival. I was sitting in Books-A-Million at Mercato last Thursday when a a group of tall and exceptionally handsome Italian men walked into the café for coffees.
The third thing I noticed about them were their shoes: shiny, black and barely out of Reptile Junction Shoe Emporium.
The well-dressed men slithered past me, slim and model-like--no bulging gym muscles creeping out from their designer shirts.
The air smelled wonderfully fragrant. I haven’t smelled anything that knee-melting and sweat-inducing in a long time. One gorgeous man looked over at me and smiled broadly, his teeth sparkling snow-blinding white.
Wouldn’t it be cool if they were producers or directors and wanted me in a film I daydreamed, missing the sip of my tea, and dribbling tea droplets down my Marshall’s top.
I dabbed and snapped back to reality as the group of men flowed past me one more time, speaking Italian. Snow White smiled, and I smiled back, flashing my Crest Whitestrips teeth.
Tom picked me up a few minutes later. As I slid into the car, a salty-sweat scent filled my nose. That’s my guy…
I know what I’m getting Tom: one of those scented tree hangers for the car. I wonder if they come in Calvin or Ralph Lauren scents? Ahhh.