So everyone here is beautiful. Even when they're not physically striking in the traditional sense, they're so well-groomed, appointed and put-together. The general color pallette they all use (lots of blacks, greys, muted tones accentuated by animal furs and exotic skins) is like a uniform code of apparel by which every Milanese abides.
So, naturally, us crude, coarse Americanos stand out. But something great has happened! I've figured out that 6 years of Latin and two semesters of Italian actually did something. I can speak pretty passable Italian - who knew? So maybe we're not as barbaric as we appear.
Here's a cute picture of mama mia and me, and mama mia really enjoying her stuffed zucchini flowers, burratta mozzarella and prosciutto. In case you're wondering, this is what I'll look like in fifty years. And I'll be just as excited about a good antipasti.
That's the face of pure joy.