Sightseeing over, I started getting ready for the party. Amazingly, I managed to squeeze into my posh frock even though I am still carrying some Christmas weight – since 1997. Just as I was running for the door, (more of a sprint given the size of room), I realized that I had forgotten my key. Quite an achievement when you consider the billboard sized attachment with the room number. The combination of small room and giant key resulted in my can of Coke landing on the front of my dress. Major panic stations! The next fifteen minutes was spent with the miniature soap and towel trying to repair the damage. Eventually I gave up and just ran to meet ‘The Trader’, more Coked-up than Kate Moss at a party - not in the same way. With hindsight I should just have given up!
The drive to the villa was thankfully air-conditioned and very scenic. ‘The Trader’ explained that the celebration was a 40th birthday party for the Contessa. I can only assume that 40 was her ‘average age’, once you calculated the median of her birth, breast and face. The party was filled with women of a similar ilk, only their chins moved when they talked (think Paula Abdul on American Idol); it was like a ventriloquist’s convention. I must have been the only woman at the party with all her original bits - practically a collectors toy!
The Italian men were as charming as ever, you have to admire their relentless flirtations. You could be walking up the aisle, resplendent in your wedding dress and an Italian bloke would ask for your number. Although the Count was American the Italian methods had obviously rubbed off. He spent at least 20 minutes in deep conversation with my breasts. I can only assume it was the shock of seeing real ones that don’t double as earrings.
I could tell that ‘The Trader’ wasn’t impressed, but you can’t really tell your host to F-Off and stop looking at your tits. With hindsight my manners wouldn’t have been so good. A while later a small group decided to visit a club. After we arrived ‘The Count ‘ decided that he was blind drunk and I was a Book of Brail. When I eventually managed to extract myself ‘The Trader’ had disappeared. Despite numerous calls and interrogation of various guests he could not be found. (perhaps he got stuck in some soft Tarmac).
Foolishly I wandered outside to find him. 10 minutes later I was hopelessly lost, with only €5 in my purse and two words of Italian, one of which was Cinquecento and unlikely to be of much use. At this point someone took pity on me. The fact I was bawling crying may have had helped - God bless drink. After a snuffled explanation he offered me a lift to my hotel. Now I realise this was not a smart move but do consider that my options were pretty limited.
In actual fact he was very sweet - as serial killers often are. He spent the journey re-assuring me that a Principesa like me was far too beautiful to cry. A brave thing to say when I was redistributing the contents of my noise down my chin. He deposited me at the hotel, kissed my hand good-bye and wished me well. He then disappeared into the night, driving erratically in his white Cinquecento.
I staggered to bed somewhat reassured that there are still some gentlemen left in the world.*
.
.
.
* Over a week later and still have not heard a word from “The Trader” !
Normal blogging will resume soon with a post explaining why some women deserve to be single - bitter, moi!
Assuming you are very drunk, in a dark room and squinting - a lot. Email me on Irishflirtysomething at hotmail.com
February 26th, 2008 at 12:01 pm
I have been waiting with baited breath for the conclusion of this. What a twat! Nothing worse than a date getting peeved off with you over someone else’s behaviour!
The post as ever was hilariously funny, even if it was such a miserable night for ya. I wouldn’t poke the trader but you could trout slap him and then ignore him.
February 26th, 2008 at 12:11 pm
Hilarious post! At least you got some great blogging material out of it. And at least there was one chivalrous, if cheesy man there.
How old is the trader though, 15? I’m with Red Mum on the trout slapping too.
February 26th, 2008 at 12:14 pm
You’re making too many excuses for the Trader. He should have saved you from the Count instead of running away. If you want an accurate estimation of his emotional age simply divide his IQ by 10.
February 26th, 2008 at 12:24 pm
Red - thanks - hope it wasn’t too big of an anti climax
Caro - thanks, my worse moments always seem the most entertaining ??
Epona - fair point, it was totally lame, or he could be in hospital, very ill???
February 26th, 2008 at 1:04 pm
excellent post. that’s unforgivable behaviour on the trader’s part. give him not one more jot of your time. i’d have cried too. immature little twerp. thank goodness you got out of it ok. i think i have handbags bigger than a Cinquecento!
February 26th, 2008 at 1:07 pm
Guys always seem to get a bad reputations in blogs! He got in contact with you and invited you to a party as well as sorting out a flight. I know you never get the full story but still are only 15 year olds allowed be upset by that?
February 26th, 2008 at 1:13 pm
He sounds like a typical selfish male (note I said ‘typical selfish male’ & not ‘typical male’…) If I were you, I would expect an explanation & not give up until I got one. Not for the flirtation to continue but so that the trader realises this is unacceptable behaviour. Grrrr…
February 26th, 2008 at 1:14 pm
Aww, he acted a bit like a baby that didnt get to play with his toy all night, erm that came out wrong, but you know what I mean. Good riddance to Trader then, you’d rather a man that fought for you anyway!
February 26th, 2008 at 1:26 pm
He must have been J E A L O U S. Some men, honestly
February 26th, 2008 at 1:32 pm
towny - thanks, impressed at size of your handbags
D4 - bad behaviour are the best stories and trust me getting abandoned in Milan is no laugh.
Student - sleeping dogs and all that
Cruddy - lol, he took the flight instead of fight option.
ellen - I’m totally with you on that!
February 26th, 2008 at 3:24 pm
This is a great story. It plays out in my head like a film, albeit a short film.
And I knew I didn’t like him. Short, bald and poor, Flirty, if it’s happiness ya want don’t stray too far.
February 26th, 2008 at 3:34 pm
“the shock of seeing real ones that don’t double as earrings.”
Are those blog awards I see in your hands?
February 26th, 2008 at 3:57 pm
I don’t get this ‘Trader’ guy. What had transpired between you, any conversation? Did he drive you there, did you travel with him to the club? Was the car gone when you looked for him? Did you get the impression he was less interested in you in person than he had been in the lead up to the trip? His behaviour seems infantile - but if that were a possibility I imagine you would have seen iot coming? No?
February 26th, 2008 at 3:58 pm
I don’t get this ‘Trader’ guy. What had transpired between you, any conversation? Did he drive you there, did you travel with him to the club? Was the car gone when you looked for him? Did you get the impression he was less interested in you in person than he had been in the lead up to the trip? His behaviour seems infantile - but if that were a possibility I imagine you would have seen it coming? No?
February 26th, 2008 at 4:08 pm
Classic tale Flirty…now, closer to home can we expect any more movement on the Dr McRide front? What did he make of your Italian Job?
And any idea what’s happened to LondonGirl?…c
February 26th, 2008 at 4:40 pm
I echo red mum- what a twat. Sorry to hear that it ended that way. Poor old you.
February 26th, 2008 at 6:05 pm
I don’t get this. You spent most of your time at the party talking to the host and then when you went to the club, you spent all of the time talking to the host and you expected him to hang around? Sorry but you should have been more assertive in your interest in the trader and actually distanced yourself from the host. Group parties are not good places for dates, especially when you have not established yourself as a couple. Sorry, better luck next time.
February 26th, 2008 at 6:22 pm
Hilarious. I loved the idea of a ventriloquists’ convention where only people’s chins were still mobile. And you being the only one with your original parts. Celeb-studded occasions look more like the Stepford Wives every day with all those facelifted robots moving stiffly around trying not to dislodge yesterday’s surgery.
February 26th, 2008 at 9:28 pm
Eolai - you never like them!
73 - cute but unlikely
conan - that’s lot of answers for one short post
Cathy - another long story, no word on LG may be she found a man!!!
Red - getting used to it
Numan - wasn’t talking to him that much
nick - was spooky similar
February 26th, 2008 at 10:34 pm
What a baby. Still, no actual row this time!
Isn’t it awful that even though we know better we still consider that they might be in hospital, ill and with their hands bandaged like clubs and unable to press the buttons on a mobile - even if it is just for a split second.
February 26th, 2008 at 11:25 pm
I agree that he could have come and rescued you from his friend, the count. you cant help your ole oirish charm sucking in the Americans!
He could have at least checked you made it back to your Smurf room ok!
Onward to better things Flirty!
February 27th, 2008 at 2:44 am
Sorry but let me quote you
“Although the Count was American the Italian methods had obviously rubbed off. He spent at least 20 minutes in deep conversation with my breasts. I can only assume it was the shock of seeing real ones that don’t double as earrings.
I could tell that ‘The Trader’ wasn’t impressed, but you can’t really tell your host to F-Off and stop looking at your tits. With hindsight my manners wouldn’t have been so good. A while later a small group decided to visit a club. After we arrived ‘The Count ‘ decided that he was blind drunk and I was a Book of Brail. When I eventually managed to extract myself”
So exactly how much time did you talk to the trader? Did you make a connection or what? You didn’t need to tell the count to fuck off, just back away and return to the trader.
Anyway, that’s now in the past and of course after he paid for your flight over, are you really surprised that he hasn’t been in contact? All of this pent-up emotional baggage and you still can’t share a room? It’s not like he’s someone you just met over the internet.
Just my two cents but from what I’ve read, Doctor McRide just isn’t interested. Call it male intuition.
I love you blog posts, you are an incredibly witty writer and keep them coming!
February 27th, 2008 at 3:13 am
Hahahahahahaha … worth the wait!
February 27th, 2008 at 1:22 pm
Ouch Numan, that’s really harsh!
I thought it was Trader who brought Flirty to the party. If he’d wanted a more intimate date he would have taken her to a restaurant. If he was seriously interested he wouldn’t have let the Count away with so much. If Trader isn’t man enough to protect his interests he doesn’t deserve to have them.
Why should Flirty have shared a room with Trader just because he paid for her flight over? I hope you’re not one of those men who think a woman should sleep with you if you pay for dinner.
Dr McRide may or may not be interested in Flirty but it isn’t a good idea to get involved with patients or housemates. He wouldn’t be breaking the Hippocratic Oath if he got involved, but he probably likes living with her and doesn’t want to jeopardise that in any way.
February 27th, 2008 at 2:15 pm
With his susceptibility to forward-type nurses Dr McRide has exposed himself (ahem) as a Hippocratic Oaf, and therefore beneath Flirty’s consideration.
February 27th, 2008 at 4:23 pm
i think i might be with numan on this one. In fairness the bloke did make an big effort. paid for you to come over, picked you up for the party etc… I know its childish but id say I might of re-acted in a similar way if I didnt get to spend any time with you on the night in question… great read tho!!
February 27th, 2008 at 4:50 pm
actually maybe a bit harsh on his part since you spent the previous day with him sight seeing and getting stuck in tarmac..(just after reading part1 there):) altho I still think my original point holds.. maybe..
February 27th, 2008 at 7:28 pm
Dear Flirty,
I am so very sorry for having left the club early, and without telling you too, which in hindsight is unthinkable. Our relationship seems fraught with dangers and mix-ups, but surely at this point you can see that I’m a little shy. The tickets and the hotel, I hope you didn’t think me too pushy but I realized your current circumstance, and thought that a change might freshen things up and give us another chance. I invited you to Milan and I suppose I was trying to impress with my sophisticated friends, and in my mind this was to be a backdrop to our own Italian romance, for that is what I am looking for Flirty, a romance. I don’t share my friend’s wealth or confidence, and when I saw you so deep in conversation with him I was taken aback, and then again later at that club. It really was too much for me and remember now please, that we all had a little too much to drink. That seems to happen us a lot !
So it looks like I’ve fucked up again, and for that I apologise and for my jealousy too. But consider this please before you dispense with any residual good thoughts you might still hold of me. My jealousy is part of me, as is my temper and shyness, but I have good attributes as well, and you know this too.
Yours sorrowfully
Is this him Flirty ?
February 28th, 2008 at 12:32 pm
I’m glad I’m not the only one thinking trader wasn’t completely out of line. Would all the people who were saying he was out of line say you were wrong if your post was about you inviting him to Milan then him spending his time getting chatted up by someone else so you left?
From his point of view if you sorted out your own room and showed independence should he wait around to see if you scored and if not make sure you got home safely?
Like you say I haven’t been abandoned in Milan but still you seem pretty well travelled and it is Milan not Ciaro.
February 28th, 2008 at 1:18 pm
So “Cinquecento” might come in handy after all! Congrats on making the shorter short list at the blog awards!
February 28th, 2008 at 1:18 pm
Flirty was dead right to show independence. I remember going to a party in a hotel in Kerry with a guy I’d known for a few months. Everyone at the party was staying in the same hotel. Naively I accepted his offer to arrange accommodation and I was sharing with him.
On the night of the party I was locked out of the room for hours because he was getting along extremely well with somebody else. I did try to intervene politely earlier but was laughed out of it. Ended up sleeping on the sofa in the drawing room for the night.
If I were in Flirty’s shoes and a guy I didn’t know very well or hadn’t seen for a long time wanted to arrange my accommodation I’d do my own thing as well. What was she supposed to do, tell the Count to effoff and insult Trader’s friends? He should have known what the Count was like and politely intervened and taken Flirty away.
February 28th, 2008 at 9:07 pm
A clean break would’ve been better me thinks. It’s when it’s just left hanging without closure that your mind ponders the ‘what if?’ scenarios.