Italian Boys

Italian boys are by far a different breed. They're polite, yet bloody hell are they persistent. Oh ma gawwwhddd.

I was at Light Bar on saturday night, just chillin' with Mirko, his girlfriend and some Italian girls (literally, it was freeezing) and kind of awkwardly as my Italian isn't exactly fantastic and they're English is even worse. There was a group of Italian men by the bar and suddenly the bartender came over to me and Silvia and said to me,

"The boys by the bar, there, are talking. They think you are very beautiful."
"Oh, gee, thanks."

Kind of awkward. They're like thirty...

"You interested in them?" she said. I struggled not to make a disgusted face and shook my head.
"No, noooooo."
"Sono schifo..." Silvia said, in my defense. I agreed.

Eurgh the hauntings of creepy Roman italian men were creeping back up on me.

At the end of the night - which was pretty much a disaster; Discoteca Life was practically empty, there was barely anyone I knew (a handful of people I'd met the first time, but not many). Mirko's girlfriend had brought a friend with her who appeared not to know anyone from the rest of the group, and then got incredibly drunk and quickly became a limp spewing puppet who we had to look after.

Mirko explained to me that I was going to get a lift home with his friend Elvis (yes, seriously, this kid's name is Elvis), because he lives in Montu' (other people live in Montu'?!). Fair play, it is pretty far out from Broni.

While I was back outside the doors of Life with Martina and her friend, we somehow attracted a fog of italian boys around us. It was ridicuous. The first guy tried to offer me a lift home, and I politely declined, telling him I already had a lift with Elvis.

"Elvis? e' chi Elvis?"
"Elvis, l'amico di Mirko."
"Mirko?"

I was starting to feel like I'd been given a duff deal here, I mean, Elvis? Is this guy for real and actually called Elvis or what? But this other dude didn't know Mirko - he clearly did as we'd all been at Light Bar earlier, but anyway. I knew exactly why he wanted to give me a lift home, and I'd rather not.

Then there were like another four boys around us, asking me if I had a 'machine' (macchina = machine and car) and then offering me a lift home. To which, I politely declined again.

And then bloody another kid! Ah my days, it was crazy. It didn't matter how good-looking they were (they really weren't.. sorry guys), I was not going to accept a lift home with them! Sheesh, what part of no didn't they understand.

Finally, and thankfully, Mirko appeared and we left. I think he was a bit surprised to see me so pleased to see him, but I was just so thankful to get out of that pesting circle of Italian boys..

I did get home eventually, with Mirko and Elvis. Who is really called Elvis. Mad.