Before I pick up where we left off yesterday with the contents of Date #7’s email, I need to explain something: I love Italy. I love pretty much all of Europe actually (except Frankfurt—Frankfurt has never done it for me) but Italy holds a special place in my heart. This for three reasons:
1) Italy contains the city of Florence. Florence is my favorite city in the entire world.
2) Italy produces wine. And cheese. And some of the greatest bread I’ve ever tasted. (In case you’re wondering, the second greatest bread I’ve ever tasted comes from Finland but something tells me you’re more interested in the contents of Date #7’s email than my take on Scandinavian baked goods.)
3) Italy provides the backdrop for my favorite film of all times: Under the Tuscan Sun.
(In case you’re not up on your post-divorce, expat memoirs, I basically want to be Diane Lane in Under the Tuscan Sun. And thanks to a recent conversation on our favorite films, Date #7 knows this).
So, getting back to the wine tasting, the subsequent under-the-influence text messages and the part where the word “Tuscany” enters into the conversation:
I get home, pull up an email from Date #7 and have (as I mentioned yesterday) a minor heart attack. This is because his email is actually a forwarded message—from the owner of an old farmhouse in Tuscany. My eyes glaze over as phrases like “two big bedrooms” and “fireplace” jump off the page. By the time I get to the part where the owner asks “Will there just be the two of you?” I think I must be dreaming (or else just really, really drunk) but I’m not.
“Are you serious?” I text Date #7.
“Yes,” he replies, “totally.”
Over the course of the next 48 hours, we determine that it would best to schedule a Pittsburgh visit before we decide to fly off to Tuscany together (I guess that’s me being “practical” again) but can you blame me for the minor heart attack I sustained in the interim? It’s not every day that my experiment garners invitations to Europe. Date #4 once hinted at a trip to Ireland if I “played my cards right” (whatever the f*ck that was supposed to mean) but this is way different.
And seeing as one of my most constant complaints about previous boyfriends has been their inability to up-and-go, I’m feeling much better about the current state of affairs. So we’re not going to Tuscany—at least not right this minute—but I am going to Pittsburgh.