Friday, March 25, 2011
A Pirate Poste
Hm...It was a little, well...piratey looking.
My daughter came out of the bathroom.
"You look like a gypsy."
"I was thinking pirate."
"No, Gypsy. It's the scarf."
We went to breakfast and I decided I would subject myself to the scrutiny of the other fashionable twenty-somethings.
As I passed each table I asked the girls "What do you think this outfit says; Pirate or gypsy?"
To my fellow breakfasters I announced the results. "I got 2 pirates, 1 gypsy, and a super cute!"
We gathered our things, I threw on my trench coat to avoid carrying it and headed for the bus. While sitting there my daughter saw across the street, a postbox. She had been sending her fiance a post card every day (which happens to be a lot of work) and she started wondering if there was time for her to mail it. Someone had forgotten something so there was perhaps a one or two minute window to decide and act. She hesitated, I grabbed the card from her hand and ran off the bus to find Guilio our driver and tell him that I was running across the street, actually two streets in an odd bit of city planning where traffic merged into an odd roundabout, to mail a postcard. He looked at his watch and nodded.
I dashed across the first street. Running felt good in those new boots and as I ran my trench flew out behind me. Lights changed just in time for me not to have to stop, I quickly checked for crazy Italian drivers (which is redundant). I arrived at the median and after a double look each way I ran across to the sidewalk. I arrived at the box dropped in the card, and turned back to repeat the process. I was feeling a bit heroic, and slightly silly, always a winning combo. I knew the entire bus was probably watching to see if I could survive my foray into Italian rush hour on foot.
When I was near the bus I slowed my pace to normal and looked up at the buildings as if I did this every day.
I stepped onto the bus.
"Pirate!" the front of the bus said.
Hah! I knew it.