More on the Men

A few more words about the men here in Italy:   how did this happen?  How are there so many magnificent creatures all rounded up in one region of the world?  It hardly seems fair.  Why was I not born here? 

 Mom and I have invented a game for our walks…count the hot Italian men.  At least every 50 meters, I am stopped dead in my tracks by one of these unbelievable specimens.  Dumbstruck would describe me well as I stumble on the sidewalk, my jaw slack and my eyes starry.  Mom has come to recognize the dopey grin on my face that means I’ve spotted yet another.  “Another one?” she’ll ask.  “Mmmhmmm.”  I murmur.

They are stunning.  Is it the flowing dark hair?  Is it the soulful dark eyes?  The bronze skin?  The blinding white smiles?  The strong, chiseled features?  The hard bodies?  The tendency to be tattoed?  Yes to one, and yes to all.  The mystery is how a country famous for carbs and luxurious ice cream boasts all these men with washboard abs easily seen through the thin retro fit T-shirts that are slightly damp with their sweat…umm, oh, I’m sorry, what was I saying?

I know it sounds like I’ve gone a little off the deep end, and I will agree for this reason.  I was walking on the sidewalk beside Mom in Vatican City today, and spotted one of these creatures lounging against a motorcycle while his friends sat on crates, and an overturned shopping cart, shooting the breeze in animated Italian, hand gestures in wild abundance.  I have stopped trying to be coy, and just stare greedily at this type of beauty since I know I will never find it back home- you only live once, and all that.  Well, Mr. Hotness actually stopped mid-sentence, and called to me in mild concern with his heavy accent, “Lady, are you ok?”  That’s right, folks.  I am old and I am obvious.  Oh, well.  I can live with that.  I got what I needed.  My pride can suffer a little.

I feel much worse for the Italian women.  What weird shift in nature is this that the men are the ones with all the power?  Face it, these guys know how attractive they are.  They could pretty much have their pick of female companions- for whatever time frame suits their fancy. 

The Italian young women I’ve seen on the streets of Rome are tall, statuesque, with enviable posture, and model-like good looks.  But even so, they are pulling out all the stops.  I’ve seen these girls hobbling along in 5 inch heels on uneven cobblestone beside their dreamy Italian man.  They look to be in obvious pain, but schlep it along anyways.  I have to wonder…are they wearing those shoes for themselves, for other women (like we American women do), or for these intimidatingly perfect men?  I tend to guess the latter.  I’ve noticed the young women here have also upped the ante with provocative clothing.  They are working it, people. 

It’s a different sort of sexy than back home.  I haven’t seen a single booty short here.  Instead, the women are groomed impeccably from head to toe and then draped in something that fits them like couture, and leaves all but one body part to the imagination.  These ladies play a good game.  There hasn't been a single topless jean jacket wearer in the lot of them.  I am clearly out of my element.

But the stress!  If I were single, and living here, I would be in a constant state of low grade anxiety.  To be rejected by your average American male…eh, whatever.  To be rejected by one of these fellows who have the face of an angel and wear cooler jeans than I do…how would I ever hold my head up again?

Good thing I’m only visiting.

And, oh yeah, I’m married.  Come to think of it, I might need to write that in sharpie on my hand for reference.