(See disclaimers below)
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Yeah, we’re here. In the hotel. In Rome.
It’s early Thursday morning and we’ve been awake for a couple hours. We’ve been reading and waiting for:
1) the Red Sox to beat the Dodgers (again)
Check.
2) breakfast to open (at 0700)
Not yet.
It is nice that Romans have a sense of humor. Included in the goodies in the room is a box of Nescafé instant coffee packets. As instant coffee goes, it’s not bad. However it would be unscientific to do a comparison without other brands being tested alongside, at the same time. AND, I suspect, a true scientific test of any coffee – instant or otherwise – would include a device for boiling water?
Those darn Romans, always with the jokes.
Though I cultivated a taste for British humor many years ago, my Roman is a bit rusty. So I just played along with the joke and mixed my Nescafé with cold tap water.
After my second cup I realized that I don’t want to spoil my appetite for the coffees available at breakfast: Espresso, Cappuccino, etc. so I moved on to cold tap water sans Nescafé.
After our long flight(s) we were pretty trashed. We got checked in to our hotel, scattered our belongings around the room, and proceeded to recline on the bed. I made a joke about the phasers on Star Trek and set the bed to ‘head up, feet up, massage for 10 minutes’.
Barb had taken her thyroid medication (empty stomach, one hour before meal) so we had to wait before crossing the street to our favorite restaurant for dinner. I told my VERY empty and loudly protesting stomach that it would be worth the wait.
I imagine that you’re thinking “oh, they probably fell asleep and missed dinner,” and you’re on the right track. Right turn, Clyde.
We awoke about 90 minutes later. My dreams had been about Caprese, Al Olio, Tiramisu, and espresso. Five more minutes! I could hear the music of the accordion player, serenading the people eating on the sidewalk below our window. My heart soared like the eagle and my stomach went along for the ride! Whee!
My bride spoke. The eagle crashed, taking my stomach along for the ride.
“I can’t eat this close to bed….” Acid reflux/GERD/reality and all that.
I returned the bed to its factory settings and contemplated suicide. “Repatriation of remains” might be a problem best addressed by a recent widow without Acid reflux/GERD/reality, so I tried to be empathetic. I rolled over and attempted to retrieve those nap-dreams of Caprese, Al Olio, Tiramisu, and espresso. I failed. Instead I got dreams of trimming cabbage in 1970 and awoke early with the taste of disappointment in my mouth.
As it turns out, Nescafé instant coffee, mixed with cold tap water has a use beyond making Roman hoteliers giggle. It rekindles the desire for Italian food.
Time for a shower (my darling bride had one while I was trimming cabbage) and Breakfast.
Film at eleven.
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Disclaimer: that pesky Y chromosome has the predictable effect of conferring upon its possessor the unavoidable tendency to be a big, dumb, insensitive male. In my defense, the preceding account had been intended as a humorous perspective on events. In my bride’s defense, her various medical conditions, pains and maladies are well known to many readers, NOT funny, and well documented by her various physicians. They are also covered by HIPPA and should not be displayed in public. Therefore, the standard disclaimer applies:
“This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.”
Barb is feeling better this morning. Therefore, so am I.
“Are you not amused?” (“Gladiator” reference. We are, after all, just a few blocks from the Coliseum.) And we are BOTH hungry.
B & B 