Character flaws

This afternoon, I was sitting in the square of San Bartolomeo, eating gelato (more on this below) and thinking about a couple of tiny little blemishes on my character that I've noticed since coming to Roma. Nothing huge: I'm not saying that I'm embezzling old peoples' life savings, or eating people, or anything like that. Small stuff.

First, postcards. That's right, postcards. They're easily one of the most effortless forms of communication that humans have ever invented. You are not even expected to write a lot - there is no room to do more than scribble some pathetic half-truth like, "Roma is lovely, wish you were here," stick a stamp on it, and drop it in a postbox. For the love of Christ, you don't even have to lick it. And yet... I can't seem to find the motivation to do it. I just can't. They just sit there in their racks, taunting me for 60 cents apiece, and still, I... can't... do... it.

Second, I'm a book slut. Why am I buying books in Roma? It's not that I'm an impulse buyer. Oh no, I thought about it long and hard, rationalized furiously, then went back to the museum shop like a tourist-trout hooked in the wallet and plopped down for an enormous, heavy book. Written in Italian. And, no, in case you're wondering, I don't read Italian very well at all.

Last, I've become absolutely addicted to gelato. I'll use any excuse or rationale to suck down huge, gluttonous quantities of the frozen goodness that I crave. Furthermore, I never have the presence of mind to keep it simple, so now I've first-hand knowledge that fragola and pistaccio do not go well together. Neither, surprisingly do merangata and ciocolatto. Of course, the four year old kid at the counter next to me could have identified that fact immediately, but I have to mix and match, as if an eclectic taste in gelato imbues me with a high class aura. Do I expect that I'll suddenly come across a variation that no one has ever thought of before? And there's always a warning... the person behind the counter always gives me the raised eyebrows when I say "nocciola". "Nocciolo e melanzane?" "Si!," I answer confidently. And then they give me one of those classic Italian smiles before they hand me my cone.

Also, I eat it too fast, and it gives me an Ice Cream Headache.