“No!”
“Then come on, let’s go.”
We reached the Pitti Palace and came across the single weirdest statue I’d seen all day.
I’d been joking about the spitting monkeys.
I wasnotjoking about this one. It was seriously bizarre.
A short, morbidly obese man, at least 300 pounds with a tiny wiener, was sitting buck naked on the back of a giant tortoise.
I shit you not.
“We’re back in the weird section again,” I announced. “The weirdgaysection.”
Emilia was howling with laughter. “Maybe some women like that!”
“Doyoulike that?”
“NO!”
“Weird gay section,” I pronounced authoritatively. “I’m out. Let’s go.”
As we walked back through the massive hedges, I said, “I’ve got a confession to make.”
“What’s that?” Emilia asked.
“I don’t know jack shit about the Boboli Gardens.”
“NO,” she said in feigned disbelief, then laughed.
“Was it that obvious?” I asked with a grin.
“Uh,yeah.”
“Damn,” I said, pretending like I was really disappointed.
Then I actuallydidgive a real reaction: a hint of annoyance. “Fuckin’ Boboli Gardens. Worst date ideaever.”
“No it wasn’t!” she protested.
I gave her a look likeCome on.
“It was really pretty!” she insisted. “And you were hilarious!”
“Well, that’s good to hear,” I said in relief.
“Why did you bring me here in the first place?”
“One of my bosses recommended it.”
She looked at me in disbelief. “You asked your boss for a recommendation?”
“I askedeverybodyfor a recommendation. Lucia said we should fuck in the bushes.”
Emilia laughed out loud. “That sounds like Lucia.”
Then, suddenly, Emilia got an impish look on her face.
