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| crimsonsky |
This is an everyday story (in my family anyway) of shoes and sex, mania and little men, and how I went bankrupt in Venice.
You see, it was like this : my father died. Understandably, I was a bit upset. So I did lots of cleaning, and crying, and I didn't sleep for weeks. So my mother had a brainwave " I'll take Crimson to Italy on holiday, which is sure to cheer her up". And I went to my doctor's, for some anti-depressants, and some cream for the dermatitis I got from cleaning compulsively, (I've never managed to get the cleaning thing right, either I'm too depressed to do any at all or too agitated to stop, or when I'm well there are a thousand other things I'd rather be doing than cleaning). So between the doctor and my mother, they managed to cheer me up. Unfortunately they did far too good a job of it and I went completely manic.
I fell in love, both with Italy, and a 4 foot 11 and a half inch bus driver from Venice ( ok, I'm exaggerating here. He was very nearly 5 foot tall). Not that I have anything against short men, I have been out with a few of them, even when I wasn't manic. But I didn't have anything in common with him. At all. So; (five minutes after I met him) I told him I was madly in love with him, insisted I was moving to Italy to live with him, and we were going to have several, little, Italian bambinos, and I would buy shoes and he would cook, and drive buses, and we would live happily ever after. He didn't protest, after all he couldn't speak English. But he nodded a lot and looked up at me in awe, as I patted his head and smiled beatificly down at him.
I was gorgeousness personified, or I thought I was. I was; Greta Garbo, Rita Hayworth, Lauren Bacall, Faye Dunaway and Julie Christie all rolled into one spectacularly, marvellous personage. Only better ( incidently, if you wish to compare me to a film star when attempting to chat me up. And I have been compared to a few, none of whom I look in the least bit like, I'd go for Julie Christie. I still think kindly of the Chinese lady I met in a gondala, who compared me to Julie Christie). I oozed confidence and shook my hair a lot. Smiled constantly and radiated sex. Eau de Mania is incredibly attractive. Being blonde and in Italy; and wearing tight, pink snakeskin, pedal pushers and killer shoes, I lay waste to the Italian male population. I had a trail of Italian men, sniffing the air, whistling, and following the click of my heels. A combination of La Dolce Vita and La Decima Vittima , with compulsive shopping. La Dolce & Gabbana perhaps?
Some of the Italian men who sniffed the scent of my manic charisma were rather attractive. But not being one to go for the obvious charms of good looks, style and intelligence. In my manic wisdom, I chose a pint-sized, scaled-down version of Sylvio Berlusconi ( only without his way with words). Still there were compensations, he had an unfeasibly large cock. I discovered that good things come in small packages or good packages come in small things, depending on the way you look at it. But all good things must come to an end, and so must my story. We couldn't get in the hotel room anymore because it was too full of bags of shoes and lingerie and I was tired from all the sex and shopping. And I dropped from a great height on an Italian beach, surrounded by shoes, and my make-up ran from crying. For hours. It was time to go home.
Edited Fri 30 Jul 10, 11:43 AM by crimsonsky
| 24 Oct 09, 11:59 PM alcydron 3 yrs |
So thats why Venice is sinking into the marsh. | |
| 25 Oct 09, 12:36 AM pleasureswitch UK(E), 6 yrs  |
WoW Bella WoW Enjoy Yourself! It's Later Than You Think ! | |
| 25 Oct 09, 1:34 AM crimsonsky UK, 7 yrs |
Yes, it's all my fault.
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| 25 Oct 09, 1:35 AM crimsonsky UK, 7 yrs |
Grazie mille. |
