Recently a FB contact took a pot shot at me in response to a quip I made on another friend’s post. The post was regarding odd couples she had observed that day, and my comment went something like this: “How about the bikini-clad girls and men in angora sweaters on Southern Italian beaches?”
The response: “I don’t know why you lived there for so long when all you do is take pot shots at Italian men every chance you get.” Adding that they had been always well dressed and most polite and respectful towards her. I am pleased for her, but that is HER experience, and it simply wasn’t mine.
Every chance I get?
I don’t believe I have been spending my days lingering on the edge of my seat waiting to plug in the ‘Italian dude on-the- make, douche-bag factor’ in every social interaction…
“Hey Cakes, How’s it going?”
“Hey! Pretty good. I was with Sir English last night. He’s so lovely! He took me to dinner, we watched a film, and he stayed over. Did I ever tell you my Ital girlfriend Tani told me never to let an Italian man in my house – not even to use the bathroom, as he would expect to get laid if I let him in. Sick huh?”
The last time I did an inventory of my time management and level of preoccupation these days – It did not include Italian men, only one certain English one. However, as we rarely communicate, I suspect this person could have read my blog – even though my posts have been far and few between in the past year since moving to England.
And what about my blog’s content? I write this blog for entertainment. My content is (was) about my single life, my ideas and MY OWN observations. Most importantly poking fun at weird Italian men is a part of my ammo. It in no way overwhelms and infiltrates my personal/social life. I don’t harbour an incessant need to go around repeating my past social and sexual liaisons with this particular demographic, or opinions from this blog to anyone in my social sphere, that will listen.
Unlike the person that made the comment (who incidentally is a native Italian woman – now living several years in the UK), I was a single expat living full-time in a foreign land where sexism and traditional roles are alive and well, and where several men have impenetrable preconceived notion that foreigners – especially North American women are easy pickins, and they – the Italians, are the best lovers in the world. Both of which fantasies they should consider surrendering.
In their infinite wisdom both my Ital gal pals Tani and Franca, told me: “The men think you are easier to take to bed because you are ‘American’ and you are free. They don’t act this way so much with Italian women.” My 2 Ital gal pals were often aghast at the behavior of men I was often subjected to. I was propositioned, followed, stalked, groped and harassed. I don’t claim it occurred everyday, but it did occur, and far more than when I was cuter, in my 20’s and lived in Canada.
But why would I want to repeatedly peg an entire demographic as hairy, cliche, or overall sleazy for that matter?
If you are even vaguely familiar with my cast here in the blog, you know I haven’t forgotten my decent, respectful Italian male friends in the ‘hood ie. ‘Wingman,’ ‘Dog Guy,’ ‘Mr. Jesus,’ and even a few others not mentioned, for who I am very indebted to for of all their support and various acts of kindness.
I don’t expect everyone to enjoy what they read, some may even hate ‘Pasta for One.’
The solution is simple, just don’t read it.
ALL of this – It’s MY experience…
And I’ll bitch if I want to.
(And by the way – Next report coming live from Italy. xo)