On the last day of our recent trip to the Italian coast, Alexandra and I were strolling around the Piazzetta in Capri, oh-ing and ah-ing over hand embroidered lace, porcelain painted with patterns of the regional lemons, guidebooks and… shit, we’re turning into our mothers. In a moment of confused defiance (“I mean seriously, the guidebooks, they’re just so much fun to have, you know”) two Italian men spotted our weakened state and went up to us.
“Why do you hate the sun!?” One of them demanded of me, motioning wildly to my white complexion.
“Oh no, my dear man. I don’t hate the sun; the sun hates me”
“Ah ah ah! How funny!” (Note how Italian men always Continue reading