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.
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