Men

Drinking yerba mate in my CC running shorts and an old t-shirt, listening to Madeleine Peyroux while I translate an Italian magazine article into English. The best part is that existing, for this moment, needn't be more difficult than this.

I sat on a bench yesterday afternoon to read while one of my charges finished up his gymnastics lesson, and an Italian man in sunglasses and linen pants walked by... twice... and came back. Inward groan. The following exchange prompted me to write the conversation in my margins so I could laugh about it later:

[dude] Mi scusi, magari ci siamo visti prima? Sorry, but I think we've met?
[me] No, credo di no. I don't think so.
[dude] Aah, ma non sei italiana. Di dove sei? Ah, you're not Italian. Where are you from?
[me] California. Lavoro qua a Torino. I work here.
[dude] Oh! I speak English some.

Great, I thought, Just great. Now we have to be awkward in two languages.

[dude] If it - possibility - drink?

He accompanies this... statement? request?... with a hand gesture of tossing back a rather large bottle of something invisible and likely alcoholic. I smile but shake my head, hopefully in a gently discouraging way. No, thanks.

[dude] Okay! Thanks to you, very much! Ciao, ciao!

And he is off again on his merry way, undeterred by my rejection. This is not the first time that has happened. What a funny breed.