I’ve heard plenty of stories of women being chased around by Italian men en being relentlessly catcalled but much to my amusement and Sohnia’s dismay, we were mostly pursued by Indian and Pakistani men selling selfie-sticks who wanted to know the intimate details of my head scarf wearing friend’s life.
After a busy day of sightseeing and pizza-eating, we decided that we should go find some place with desserts and cocktails to finalize my birthday. We walked around for a good hour (I was being picky as hell) but we eventually found this adorable cafe with a wide selection of delicious looking desserts.
We sat down and ordered our drinks. After a few minutes our waiter came back and asked me to dance.
The place was fairly empty, save for one or two couples, but being a very shy and reserved person I refused. He wouldn’t take no for an answer though and pulled me up by my hands. I didn’t want to be a total kill joy (and I’ll admit I was a little flattered), so we danced.
After a few minutes I asked him his name, fully expecting something very Italian like ‘Giovanni’ or ‘Antonio’.
“John”. His name was John. He didn’t bother returning the question and I decided that if he wasn’t going to ask, then I’m not going to volunteer the info.
There wasn’t a snowballs chance in hell that I was going to go home with this guy. Especially not with my conservative Muslim friend sitting right there. I’m assuming that was more or less what he was expecting but that’s not something I’ve ever done nor something I’d consider. I was going to finish dancing to this song, finish my drink, pay the bill and skedaddle.
And then he kissed me.
Totally out of the blue. I did not see it coming. Perhaps I should have but all I know is one minute we were just dancing, and the next his mouth was on mine.
I guess I’m supposed to be outraged or something at this guy’s cheek for invading my space like that but I could not help feel a growing sense of amusement.
He was really pulling out all the stops. Dancing sensually, singing foreign words in my ear, plucking out his phone mid-dance to show me a picture of his bare chest and abdominal muscles to which I eloquently responded with “Oh, very nice”.
While all this was taking place, I silently pondered his behavior and came to the conclusion that he reminded me of a bird doing it’s mating dance.
After the song ended, I sat back down to finish my drink and endure the ribbing Sohnia was no doubt going to put me through. But John didn’t stay away for long. This time he tried to get Sohnia to dance with “his friend”, who was a overweight man somewhere in his forties.
In his defense, the poor guy looked just as uncomfortable as we were with the situation. Sohnia refused and John tried to get me to convince her to dance with him but I had reached my limit of what I was willing to put up with and I was not about to bully my friend into going against her personal beliefs and values so he could get me alone.
We asked for the bill and John grudgingly gave it to us. He was clearly not happy with how his night was turning out. I, however, was quite pleased with myself. I’d gotten a kiss from a semi-attractive stranger for my birthday and a good story to horrify my mother with later. All in all, a memorable 21st birthday!
The next day we had a tour scheduled with Scooteroma. What better way to see Rome on a time limit than by zipping around on vintage vespas?