Your restroom or mine?
Now I come from Austin, TX and whatever your peccadillo, or perhaps lack thereof, we have a restroom for you. Even if you are Fido. Personally, I have no problem with that. I think that if you go to the trouble of wearing Spanx, lasering your body hair, wearing a wig in our humidity and suffering the ravages of eyelash glue...well you are welcome in my restroom....Any time!
Of course, I will be accompanying my granddaughters into said restroom until they are married but take no offense there.
But not so in Italia. Here it's all about Le Donne. Women are are a protected class in Italy, revered as Le Madonna. We have spent a lot of time in restaurants lately. Here our hands are kissed, our chairs pulled out, our waiters ever on the lookout for flying insects that might disturb our al fresco dinners. Wine glasses are always topped and bottles of aqua minerale frizzante magically appear at our table. The cameriere remember their ladies and they treat us like queens.
Watch out, Paolo, I'm starting to get spoiled.....really, really spoiled.
Even shawls and scarves, cleverly draped to cover our slightly pleated cleavage, are tenderly adjusted should, unbeknownst to us, they slip off our shoulders. One could get to like this attention. In fact, I already do, after the first experience of nearly jumping out of my skin. Now, I scarcely notice.
I pity any sister-misters trying to invade an Italian ladies restroom. I'm sure that our restaurant defenders would rush in, wearing Gucci sunglasses to protect our modesty, and oust the offenders. So here, in Firenze, there are clubs with plenty of restrooms where those in search of their true selves gather. Otherwise, make sure your eyeliner is on straight and good luck!
Now I come from Austin, TX and whatever your peccadillo, or perhaps lack thereof, we have a restroom for you. Even if you are Fido. Personally, I have no problem with that. I think that if you go to the trouble of wearing Spanx, lasering your body hair, wearing a wig in our humidity and suffering the ravages of eyelash glue...well you are welcome in my restroom....Any time!
Of course, I will be accompanying my granddaughters into said restroom until they are married but take no offense there.
But not so in Italia. Here it's all about Le Donne. Women are are a protected class in Italy, revered as Le Madonna. We have spent a lot of time in restaurants lately. Here our hands are kissed, our chairs pulled out, our waiters ever on the lookout for flying insects that might disturb our al fresco dinners. Wine glasses are always topped and bottles of aqua minerale frizzante magically appear at our table. The cameriere remember their ladies and they treat us like queens.
Watch out, Paolo, I'm starting to get spoiled.....really, really spoiled.
Even shawls and scarves, cleverly draped to cover our slightly pleated cleavage, are tenderly adjusted should, unbeknownst to us, they slip off our shoulders. One could get to like this attention. In fact, I already do, after the first experience of nearly jumping out of my skin. Now, I scarcely notice.
I pity any sister-misters trying to invade an Italian ladies restroom. I'm sure that our restaurant defenders would rush in, wearing Gucci sunglasses to protect our modesty, and oust the offenders. So here, in Firenze, there are clubs with plenty of restrooms where those in search of their true selves gather. Otherwise, make sure your eyeliner is on straight and good luck!
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