Tuesday, April 12, 2011

My Postcard

I think I had mentioned that I was not writing throughout my last weekend trip. I keep remembering details that I do not want to lose forever in the sea of my brain.

After the guided tour of Pompei, I wandered some of the shops. I found a thimble that was cheaper than any other thimble I saw, and my grandma collects them. I talked to the vender, in Italian of course, telling him I want to buy it for her. His first questions were what is my name and do I have a boyfriend, typical. After he tried setting me up with his son who gave me elevator eyes, I told him about how I was just there to buy a present for my grandmother. The vender told his 25 year old, tall, dark, blue eyed son that I would be a perfect match because I seem family oriented. After some laughing, he gave me my thimble and then reached over to the postcard, "a gift," he said. I put it in the bag without thinking, then gave the vendor a "proper parting of ways" which is the double cheek kiss.

I later looked into the bag and saw that the postcard he gave me was of the pictures from the Brothel. My grandmother2s thimble is now tainted, and I am left with a suggestive postcard fit for no one.

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