It's a Tuscan Thing

 

Sometimes I seriously look around and wonder where the hell am I and what the hell am I doing here? I dropped Sofia at school nine minutes late this morning, but I still have my car injury collar on, so I can do anything and be forgiven. Then, I went to the bar for a cappuccino and croissant with marmelade with my girlfriend breakfast club and swiped the newspaper from the "boy" (six seventy year olds without teeth) breakfast club...with finesse.

We huddled over the paper, read the horoscope- I'm deep like that, and jumped when some woman dropped her glass that shattered all over the floor. Nothing new. However, when we walked outside to sit and talk a little more on the bench..there was this horrifying smell...

*Stew*

Someone was awake and cooking stew or something oniony at 8ofreakingclockinthemorning. I sat there digesting my sweet cappuccino to the stench of old woman cooking. THAT IS SO WRONG! I then tried to imagine any American I know cooking at 8 o'clock on a Wednesday morning...

*Impossible*

To make matters worse, I got in my car to head to my insurance company's office and as I passed a Tuscan field, I glanced to the right and saw an OLD WOMAN wearing a doo-rag bonnet lookin' thing, a skirt and an apron picking something from the ground. There was something about the skirt and apron combo that screamed ITALIAN. The American version would have been coveralls and a cool bandana with an iPod clearly visible.

*Where am I and WHERE ARE THE FREAKIN' DOLCE AND GABBANA BOYS?*