Invading Italy.

Right. So a break from the history lesson and maudlin autobiographical nonsense. I have decided that Manhattan is getting too muggy this summer and I have no desire to rush out to whatever pseudo chic beach event people pretend to care about in the Hamptons.

Did I ever tell you about my acquaintances, the Sterns? They took a house out in East Hampton. Nice little cottage. I went to the beach with Jim. Good guy. Banker type. A little desperate. They both like to drink so we were sort of amigos for a while. I asked his wife Carol if she was coming as well.

Her response was “oh, not me. I hate the ocean.”

Later at the beach I said to Jim, “good sport then, your wife. Coming all the way out here, fighting against absurd traffic if she hates the beach and the ocean.”

Know what Jim said?

“What are you talking about? She’s the one who insisted we get this place.”

Huh?

They spent thousands of dollars for this cottage (rental premium) because she…get this “liked the restaurants.” She lives in Manhattan for fucks sake. The capital of restaurants.

What Carol liked was the perception of going to the Hamptons. Piling in the fucking Audi. Bitching about the traffic. Seeing people on Monday…Oh…we were at our place (ahem…rental) in East Hampton.

What a total pile of steaming manure. It makes me sick.

So…back to what I was saying. I want nothing to do with the Carols or Jims of the world this Summer.

Instead, I have booked myself a ticket to Fiumicino. I will be in Rome through the end of the month, take a spin up to a villa in Umbria for a few weeks, and conclude with a few nights in Florence. I plan to stuff myself with pasta and drink as much wine as I can. Should make for a good adventure.

Going with me is a young woman I met a few days ago. Her name is Candy. (Seriously.)

She’s an attorney. I actually asked her to go as I’d heard attorneys in New York can’t really take vacation until they make partner or cede their soul to the dark lord or whatever.

Joke was on me when she accepted. Guess she is a criminal defense attorney who is self employed. Anyway.

She’s just like I like ‘em. Short, blonde, brilliant and just a little bit crazy. She's a Texan, but a socialist. She packs a .22 pistol in her Marc Jacobs handbag. What a socialist is doing with a Marc Jacobs handbag is another question altogether. Don't think I didn't ask. That's when she showed me the .22.

This has all the earmarks of a disaster. I can't wait.