On the tenth day of Christmas…

I attended a Language Exchange Event.

Not the first, it has to be said, but this specific evening, all the Italians present were male. Convinced it was merely a coincidence, and again with the wine flowing freely, I chatted away happily to all present. Those who know me, will know that I’m more than happy to chat with anyone, and if we get on well, great, we can be friends. Perhaps this overzealous attitude was misconstrued as ‘she’s a foreigner and keen as a bean’. Either way, still convinced we were all meeting up to speak English, and always happy to help, I exchanged numbers with 17 men that night.

Unsurprisingly, I had not been paid on time by work…well, ever really. However, at the end of this specific month, my funds had dwindled to 3.58 euro, so when the texts arrived, suggesting coffee, dinner, lunch, brunch, you can bet that I was as keen as a bean.  Chuffed that I wouldn’t starve to death, I agreed to meet everyone. Lorenzo 1, Lorenzo 2, Andrea 1, 2 and 3, and so on. (Obviously not all at once; I was hoping to spread them out before I got paid again).

Still unsure as to how I landed myself in such a cushy position, I had successfully arranged four dates in one weekend –lunch-dinner-lunch-dinner on Saturday and Sunday.

The dream.

There were others, too –a few coffees here and there, and, well, let’s just say I ate very well for a couple of weeks. And, of course, it wasn’t to be ruled out that I might fall in love with one, or even all, of the dates. (Spoiler: this did not happen).

pizza

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