Oh, Venice and your slippery canals...
"Bloody hell. I'm not having any cowboys. I want Italian intellectuals. They'll read Kirkegaard. They're not learning how to shoot a rifle," he said, over a cup of Venetian espresso. He smiled at me, then asked, "Shall we get married in Venice?" "Yes! I mean, no. F*** no. I'm not marrying you, you bloody Italian. F*** that." "How about Vegas, honey?"
"Well, ok, maybe."
And, this began my Sunday morning in Venice. but let's back track about 12 hours. I arrived by train to by far the strangest feat of human architecture in the world. all I could think was a) this is like Disney world, and b) good thing i am here now, b/c when the Greenland ice sheet melts this place will be so under water. We stayed in the apartment of one of his childhood friends from northern Italy, a beautiful girl, 29, who was busy writing a philosophy book to be published next week. She has two PhDs. Of course she does. Anyone associated with this hot hunk of Italian flesh must...except me. The crazy tree-hugger from montana. Shit.
Anyway, we ventured out to the film festival but I'm disappointed to say that i never saw brangelina, even though I know they were there. After a film, as it grew darker, we scoured the city for un-lit alley ways. We had sex in two of them, and almost got caught twice. By the time we made it back to the apartment, I was pretty tired, but we had sex again. This man is indefatigable I swear. So yep, condom broke! Goddamit. "Bloody french condoms, I fucking knew it!" he said.
*****Let me interject here and say that i'm usually on the pill. The one and ONLY reason i wasn't on it that summer was because my friend quit taking hers and she lost 3lbs. 3LBS!! And, since i was single again and I'd been eating my way through Europe, I thought, hey, I could use the boost. I began that trip at 132lbs. Came home at 148. Hmmm, THAT didn't work.****
"Don't worry, I'm not worried..." ha, yeah right. Stuck in Italy...I knew I should've kept taking the pill. Fuck. My weekend in paradise, and I would spend the next several hours scheming about how to deal with the fact that I could have a little Italian in my uterus.
Needless to say, the entire next morning (til 3pm, actually) was spent in the hospital in Venice, trying to get a prescription for the morning after pill. Because Italy is so damned catholic, there are strict regulations to acquire that shit. So, we made up a story, and he asked me to marry him, since there was a good chance we'd have to talk to a doctor/priest about the consequences etc. So yes, i got pregnant and engaged in venice.
We finally got the prescription. "11 euros to kill a cowboy," he smirked. A**hole. God, he's so hot though. "11.42," I replied. "I suppose that's a lot cheaper than raising one, eh?"
We saw a couple of really good films, ate some AMAZING food, and had sex ALL over the city. We even had sex in the hospital, before I took the pill, in the handicap bathroom. Then, we had sex on the train on the way back to vienna. Then, we had sex when we got back to his house. And now, I'm at my last day of work, all sexed out.