Fluffy

Things so far with Hercules are going quite well.  But I wanted to share this amusing anecdote.  My Italian language skills have improved drastically over the last few weeks, but I do make blunders here and there.  I suggested to Hercules that we have dinner week before last.  He came over with a gorgeous houseplant (how attentive, he’d noticed my large houseplant collection) and a bottle of wine.  I was grateful for the gifts but surprised, especially with the wine.  So I headed out the door and started walking towards a nearby restaurant.  About halfway there, I realized Hercules had thought I would be cooking dinner.  That explains the wine (tradition to bring wine or candy when invited to dinner in Italy) and the houseplant (hostess gift).  I quickly said it would be no problem and that we could go back to my apartment and I would cook up something.  Upon taking a closer look at my refrigerator and pantry, I realized this was a bad idea.  All I had was frozen corn and Tyson chicken patties.  I was genuinely mortified that his first true American homecooking would be redneck food.  He seemed to sense my panic and said it was fine, that we would go back out for pizza.

So we had a nice pizza dinner at my favorite dive.  I don’t think the waitstaff in local restaurants are used to seeing local men dining with US ex-pat women, especially while speaking in an odd mix of English and Italian and of course constantly flipping thru dictionaries.  But anyway, all was good and I’ll cook a nice meal for him eventually once I figure out what he does and doesn’t like.  He is so polite I am sure he would have eaten the redneck food while saying “Eeez good, very good”.

A few months ago, my Italian pal “Orlando” called me up late one night to come hang out in the town square.  This was in the height of the world cup frenzy and the locals were showing highlights from various games on a jumbotron in the town square.  Since I live roughly a 45 second walk from the square, I had no excuse not to go.  I was kind of bored until Orlando said hello to another Italian.  I looked up to see who he was talking to and nearly fell over.

The man in question was a tall, lean, blonde-haired, blue-eyed man who looked like he had just stepped down from Mount Olympus, perhaps Apollo in all of his sun-kissed glory.  I think we said hello but that was the extent of it due to our mutual lack of language comprehension (and I was embarrassed that I was more or less in pajamas).

When talking about him to Orlando, I referred to him as Achilles/Zeus/Adonis/etc.  Orlando kept calling him Hercules.  At first I thought he was playing along with my Greek god game but no, the man’s name really is Hercules.  Anyway, Orlando has mentioned him from time to time, saying he could call him up to meet us and other puny excuses, but I never took him seriously and instead preferred to just be grateful that there are such beautiful men out there to grace our eyes.

Enter Sunday night.  My sister and I went for a long walk while my best friend recovered from jetlag.  Then the three of us were going to Fred’s house for his birthday dinner.  Fred called to see when we were coming and I said “Oh, we’re about to leave the house.”

Fred said “Okay, great.  I’m here, and my daughter’s here, and Orlando’s here with his daughter, and some guy named Hercules.”

After I dropped the phone in astonishment, I had Fred repeat what he’d previously said.

Indeed, Orlando had brought along Hercules to Fred’s birthday party.  I told Fred I would be very late.  I was wearing mom jeans, fisherman sandals, and a tank top that would have looked childish on a 3rd grader.  That just wouldn’t do when meeting a Greek god, so after thirty minutes of my sister and best friend picking out clothes and giving me nays/yays on hair and makeup, I felt presentable.

When we drove up, everyone was waiting outside and there he was.  Mmmm.  He speaks a little bit of English, so with my pathetic knowledge of Italian we proceeded to have very mundane conversations, but who cares?  We were having a good time.  Everyone made a very serious effect to be very inconspicuous about leaving the two of us together and failed very badly.  Even the language barrier couldn’t block that.  We wound up going out for a coffee around 10pm, and he eventually had to leave because he needed to work the next morning.  But not without giving me a phone number.

And he called!  Yesterday actually.  I guess I am way too used to American guys calling a week later, if at all.  I guess we will see what happens because we cannot understand 95% of what the other is saying, but at least I have a lovely memory of having coffee with a man named Hercules who actually lives up to the name in my book.