We Are in Italy (But We Are Not at the Big Wedding)
There's also the fact that we weren't invited. There's also the fact that we wouldn't go. There's also the fact that we definitely would have.
Trigger Alert: this is travel porn on airline miles disguised as travel porn.
Melanie and I are in Tuscany. That’s Italy if you don’t get out much. Italia, of course, if you do.
If I look out from my Room with a View, I can see Melanie floating in an aquamarine pool. Your correspondent writes to you from an obscenely beautiful, recently renovated castle in Tuscany. Undoubtedly, the locals call it a castello, but we haven’t met any yet.
One of our two Da Vinci length dining room tables is situated outside. We have a flower bed where butterflies hover over the lavender like Snow White’s bluebirds. (I’ve tried to capture it in video, but it’s not the same as being here.) The ceilings are so high, Melanie called them “Sistine-like.” Not everything is perfetto: the pool-side grass is too green, and you can make out the outlines of freshly-laid sod.
Are you still here?
Then, I continue.
In the late afternoon we drove in from Rome. We had pizza off of the highway and a charming conversation with…
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