By The Hair of Zeus's Testicles

3/29/2009 7:05pm
Return Train to Rome

The highlight of our trip was definitely the two Italian girls who strolled into our room in Florence one evening as I was massaging my testicles.

Not that they saw--it was cold and I was under the covers. They greeted us with a casual "ciao," to which Brent replied with the stone-faced silence of a man sorting photos as if his life depended on it. After a few minutes, I started up a conversation with the more attractive of the pair, who despite her protestation that she did not speak English, was about as capable of communicating as Brent and I are in German. To help her, I made it a point to speak slowly and choose my words carefully, while Brent, the shy big bear that he is, mumbled a lot and used colloquialisms she would obviously not understand (e.g. "we're just chilling," "what classes are you taking next quarter," and "the noob was camping shotty 'til I no-scoped him in the dome.") When the other girl returned to the room, she also joined our conversation, despite her even more adamant protestation of not speaking English.

I waited for the opportune moment--just as they were about to unpack their food--to pop the question: "Would you like to have dinner with us?"--and quickly added, "We'll pay," just in case that was an issue. Brent claims he was expecting them to reject me, but I can't imagine a scenario where that's possible. Especially given the way they would spend their evening otherwise.