Italy: What Not to Wear

I made it! After spontaneously purchasing my ticket to Italy, I quickly got unpacked from Iowa and repacked for Italy.  Twenty-four hours later, I got into town and had the best night sleep.  I'm staying with my Uncle, Aunt and Cousin in Grumolo, Italy which is a rural town outside of Vicenzia which is in between Verona and Venice.

Today, I took my uncle's dog for a walk today just so I could get a feeling of what his town looked like.  This dog is a cute little beagle named Bailey.  As I was heading back to the house, Bailey decided to do her business and like a good dog walker, I used a doggie bag to pick up the poop.

Continuing down the street, a beautiful black sports car pulls into the drive-way across the street from where I am.  As luck would have it, the most gorgeous Italian man gets out of the car.  I swear this next part happened in slow motion.  As he stepped out of his car and shut the door behind him, he popped the collar of his black leather jacket with a red stripe up the sleeves, smoothed his perfectly tousled hair, rubbed his five o'clock shadow and glanced over at me.

Trying to keep what was left of my melting panties on, I realized how I looked.  Unlike the Italian women doing every day chores, I was not wearing my stilettos with a slinky black dress.  I was appropriately clad in a sweatshirt, saggy brown pants, a messy bun, and Chacos.  I also had the privilege of carrying a very clear, Ziploc bag of feces. 

Hottest Man Alive smirked at me then grimaced at my bag of poop and slo-mo walked away from me.  As I watched him walk into the house I thought, "Fuck.  Really?  This tribute to the gods is my neighbor?!" 

Next time I go dog walking you can bet on Hottest Man's oh-so-cute bottom that I will be in my Sunday best...probably with cleavage.