Men in Italy

The men in Italy make me laugh. There are so many different kinds of men here and it seems like I cant go out without having some kind of encounter with at least one man. Let me line them up for you.

The first night that Lourdes and her family were here I walked home from Piramide. That day was a game day for the Roman team (they’re kind of a big deal to the Romans). There is this American restaurant and there was a circle of men standing out front. I tried to walk through it and the first side let me pass but when I got to the other side they would not let me out. So here I am, tired and cold, standing in the middle of a circle of men. They were all very friendly, no worries there, but they were asking me something in Italian that my brain did not want to try to understand. I simply said “Sorry but I don’t speak Italian” and the main guy says, “How can you be in Italy and not speak Italian? Let me guess, American?” I laughed and said yes. He asked me if I love Rome and I said yes. And then they all started cheering, all except one guy. I guess they were trying to prove the point that everyone loves the Roman team and he is the only outsider. His friends apologized for him being so drunk and they let me pass. After I left they were calling after me asking me what my name is but I was too tired so I kept walking.

Another night I was on my way back home and I had taken the metro again. I was with Nicole and Jimmy this night. We were on our way out of the train station and it was very cold. These two guys were at a table asking people to donate money to some children’s fund. He walked right up to me and said something to me in Italian. I said my same old line about not speaking Italian and he says, “That’s ok. I speak English. I was just saying that I like your hat. It looks very warm and I am so cold in here.” I said thank you and he took my hand and said that I was very hot (meaning warm) and that he was sooo cold. I then smiled and walked away.

Another day, I was waiting for the bus and a man told me I had nice hands. I already told that story so I wont go into it again. Then there was a day that I was sitting on the bus and there was a man standing next to me reading a book. I kept looking at his book wishing I knew what it was titled and knew what it was about. I would have settled for recognizing the author. He noticed that I kept looking at the book and smiled at me. He understood that I had no idea what it was about and I think he chuckled on the inside at my American ignorance. When I got up to leave he gave me a wink and I gave him a smile. He reminded me of a nice old man, old in the sense that he was in his early to mid forties. But for those few minutes that we rode together we got each other. And when he gave me a wink it was nothing more than a head nod goodbye, his way of saying nice to meet you.

A few days ago it was raining on and off so everyone had umbrellas. Nicole and I were headed to Termini to get a movie so we took a different bus that usual. We were standing next to this man and he turns to me and says something in Italian that I vaguely understood. He was laughing at his friends giant umbrella that he was awkwardly holding. I laughed. He then showed me that he had his umbrella up his sleeve. I then unzipped my purse and showed him where mine was. I actually told him in Italian, too. He introduced himself and his friend. His name was Mario and his friend was Sergio Ferrari. He said that he and his family have lived in Rome since the beginning of time and that he had an uncle that lived in New York for a while. He had been to New York once. His friend was from Tuscany and they were joking that he was a Tuscano not an Italiano. They were very nice men, late fifties, early sixties.

Nicole and I go to market every Sunday and we have gone by this booth two weeks in a row. The first time we went by, one man asked Nicole to marry him. She said no and he looked very sad. The second time we went by he remembered her and told her to come over to him. She said “Nah, I’ll pass.” He looked sad again. It was quite entertaining. The main guy that hands to bags out at that place was always my favorite at that booth. He knows a little English and tries to speak it when I go by. Today I was trying to fish out a bag and gave up because it was stuck and I only had one hand so he fished it out for me. He’s very good looking, probably 23. But every time I see him I cant help but thinking about Jeffrey and the book he gave me. The guy kind of dresses like Jeff but I am mostly reminded of him because of Kite Runner. The guys that work the booth look like they are from Afghanistan or Pakistan, one of the Stans (that’s what Jeff and I call all the countries that are not included in the middle east; they all contain the word “stan”). And when I see them I think of Amir and his father.

Nicole and I ran into another guy at the market today. He was carrying an Ikea bag and Nicole pointed at it and said look as we were walking by him. I was turning around to look at the bag and I noticed that he was wondering what we were looking at. I think its rude to stare and not tell the person why you are staring so I turned around to let him know. I said that we have that same store in America and we were admiring his bag. He said “You American? I American, too.” And he linked arms with me. We both laughed and then I walked away.

You see, they are all very friendly. And none of them are creepy or anything like that. The blond said it best, “Italian men love to flirt.”