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I was an exchange student in Antwerp, Belgium in the fall of 1969. Along with a group of students, I decided to take a Christmas holiday trip to Italy. It was there, in Florence, that I fell madly, head over heels in love. Oh, I had been in love before, with school boys and college “men”, but this was different. Here in front of me was a real man, and Italian, to boot! I grabbed my friend’s arm and whispered, “Look!"
She turned and asked, “Look at what?”
“Over there across the Galleria,” I replied as my steps quickened, “Hurry, I need to get a better look.” We hastened across the wide open space. As I got closer and closer, I could hardly believe my eyes. There he was, Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. From head to toe, he was perfection. He wore a crown of steely curls and stood at least six feet tall. His arms were all muscle defined by the clenching of something in one fist. As I looked upward, (I am only five feet, three inches tall), his piercing look bore right into my heart. What incredible eyes. His clean shaven face expressed determination and a strong will. He said nothing, but continued to stare right back at me. I looked at my friend again, “What should I say? I can’t stand this. I have to know him. He is just absolutely gorgeous. Is it possible to fall in love instantly? I thought that was just the stuff of fairy tales.”
“Oh get a grip, Karen,” my friend chided firmly, “Don’t be so silly. Of course, a woman can fall in love instantly, but not with his sort.”
“Why not?” I whined.
“Because I know for a fact that he never leaves the Galleria dell’Academia. He is a permanent resident, and never goes out of the building, not even for dates.”
As I imagined my David slewing Goliath, I realized that my friend was right. But darn that Michelangelo, why did he have to sculpt such a perfect man?
Author’s note:
I left a little piece of my heart in Florence that year, but significantly raised my standards when in came to falling in love.
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