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Mozzarella Heels

Shortly after I started officially dating the Italian, he went off to Italy on holiday for his nieces christening.

He called me everyday which was, I admit, very impressive. You see, that’s the thing about foreign men, they don’t hold back. There’s none of this call you in three days rule, or only call before Wednesday if you want a date at the weekend. None of that! It was so refreshing to have a net a guy who put it straight, “I’a like’a you, I think’a you’a like’a me, so’a wanna hang’a outta with’a me or no?”.

And there you have it, day calls from his holiday. Sunning himself, eating pizza, drinking Spritzers and thinking if me – bliss.

One day I couldn’t quite believe my luck. The conversation went something like this:

*phone rings, incoming call from Venice*

Him: I’a was in’a the town’a today, you’a know, and I’a saw’a the’a gorgoose pair’a shoes on’a woman’a

Me: Really? You were looking at Women’s shoes. Interesting.

Him: Yeah, I was’a in’a the town’a for’a santhin (something) and’a I saw’a those shoes and’a thought’a I’a gona get’a you’a a gift’a’

Me: Well that would be very generous, thanks, sounds lovely.

How lucky?? I had met this guy, an Italian guy, who was in Italy shoe shopping for me!! Oh the excitement, I was going to get myself a nice little pair of Prada sling backs!

A few weeks later when he returned, we made arrangements to meet up. He arrived with a box and wearing the biggest smile. That was it, I was hooked, he had me at “shoes”!

He handed over the box and I slowly unwrapped the brown paper. Peeling back the first corner I spotted a P, my heart sank – he had really bought me a pair of Prada shoes!!

I peeled back a bit more to reveal an A. Ok, odd. Slightly confused. Not Prada. I looked again, definitely not an R, it was most certainly an A. The Italian looked on with brown puppy dog eyes willing me to hurry up and open it.

I ripped back the paper to reveal a word: PALSE. To me this meant nothing. To him it meant the world. He practically jumped up and down on the spot with excitement, salivating.

Its’a from’a my’a Nonna’s village!!!!” he squeezed with delight.

“What is it?” I asked with a half cocked head

La Mozzarella!! Mozzarella Palse!! It’a was’a made’a this mornin’a..” he said waving his hands in a motion that suggested I should have known what the heck he was talking about.

Rewind. Let me digest this. Where’s the shoes?? The shoes that the stylish Italian woman in the town was wearing? The shoes that prompted you to want to buy me a gift?

Still in Italy, that’s where the shoes were. In their place, sat on my lap was a box containing four balls of mozzarella. Was I supposed to be thrilled at this concept? He wanted me to willing eat a cheese knowing that it had been the contents of a cow’s udder only hours before??

Seriously, I would have SO preferred the shoes!

This was the first of the Italian’s odd gift offerings. If you want to read how he almost blinded me with a christmas present, check out my post Amore Mio.

Red shoes, Prada

Red shoes, Prada (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Posted by on May 31, 2012 in London

 

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