This law will be slightly different as there will be 2 morals:
It was a beautiful night in Rome. The warm weather was accompanied by a gentle breeze in a way that only the air in Rome can blow. Or at least that's how you feel when you're there. Earlier that day, we had met a brother and sister about our age that were also "on holiday" and we decided to meet up that evening on the Spanish Steps. They say that the Spanish Steps are a wonderful place to watch the world go by; but in this case, they wouldn't go by... they would stay.
Laura, Emily, and I sat on the steps; talking, laughing, drinking wine out of the bottle, just having a good time together, when these semi-pubescent looking Italian bambinos came over.
Question, men: What chemical is released in you at 18 years old, that makes you think you are so dazzling that any woman would die to talk to you?
Whatever the chemical is, these boys had it. With their Italian jibber jabber and attempting suave ways, you would have thought that Casanova was alive and well and standing before us... if Casanova was stupid.
For some time, we tried the friendly "Write Off": they ask a question, we answer back - in the shortest amount of words possible without being too rude. Ladies, don't pretend like you haven't used this technique, responding in one-word answers. Yep. Right. Ok.
They weren't getting it.
Keep in mind that most of what they said was, literally, foreign to us.
Question, men: Is it really that much of a blow to your ego to accept defeat and move on to the next target?
Next, we moved on to the second line of defense: "Ignore 'til they bore". We continued our conversation, blocking them out.
Clue, men: Please realize that at this phase in the defense line, we aren't wanting to be rude, but we haven't been given another choice.
I know its hard to believe, but we don't always want someone hitting on us, feedng us compliments, and buying us drinks. Sometimes... yes, sometimes, like this time, we just wanted to hang out with the girls without getting harassed by boys that couldn't even really talk to us on any sort of level.
My Casano-duds weren't taking to this defense either.
Finally, the battle turned bleak. With them starting to get nasty and aggressive, it was time for the third line of defense, the "Blow-off" For this defense, it is imperative that you have an expert fieldsman. This person must have no problem telling people to f*ck off with as little kindness and as many gestures as possible. There is no room for subtlety because the enemy doesn’t understand it. In this defense, basic protocol demands that the enemy gets their ass chewed out and blown off. And in this case, our marksman was Laura. She did the blowing off with precision, finger-waving confidence, and when they left we were all relieved.
For some reason though, I didn’t feel the usual glow of a battle won. I felt that they had somehow had the last laugh, and when I checked around I realized why.
In plain English, the mother fuckers stole my shoe. Yes, you heard me right... SHOE. Just one. ONE! In all fairness there execution was quite brilliant - not enough to ruin my night but just enough so that we wouldn’t forget whose turf we were standing (rather… sitting) on. They were named, as all my shoes are. My "fabulounsonse" shoes. Only worn once. That night. This was a casualty I was not prepared to lose. She was too young. Not now.
As soon as I realized my shoe was missing I began MY rampage through the streets of Rome. General Legra was mad and I would not take it lying down shoeless! I limped up and down the street looking for the boys and/or for stolen shoe. There would be no holding back if I found the enemy. No mercy. As Mel Gibson in the movie 'Ransom' said, " God be with you, because nobody else on this Earth will be."
Well God was working that night... with me because had I found the bambinos that night, I swear, to this day, I would have ended up in Italian jail toasting a Cappuccino to the murder because the wrath unleashed would have caused the second falling of Rome. I would have laid the smackdown so hard they would have rue the day, they took one of my own. Bloody Murder! In any case, this was not a battle I was meant to win.
No shoes, no culprits. I tossed over every trash in a 5 block radius in any direction, but nothing. However, what did transpire was something magical that could only come from the ashes of destruction. A great group of rebel tourists began helping out three girls they never met before. One girl, Suzanne from Pennsylvania, was leaving Italy the following day and offered me a pair of her own shoes.
She apologized, “ I know they’re not as nice as yours, but at least you’ll have something to go in tonight.” (As if a missing shoe and a fit of rage was enough to stop me from enjoying the rest of my evening in Roma, Italia.)
I thanked her a million times over for her generosity before me and the girls were on our way to set the city ablaze. I still think about my one Cinderella shoe in a glass case on one of their mantles, looking fabulous and glamorous, but I’m sure it’s probably in the Italian discarica (fancy for garbage dump). You should know, faux Casano-duds, if you ever read this that I replaced the "fabulounsonses" immediately upon arriving back in the states.... and I had a ball.
So fuck you.
Moral of the story: There will always be a Machiavelli lurking in your life… be prepared for anything
Moral of the story FOR men: Sometimes (and its unfortunate for you) the battle is lost before it starts and you know damn well, when this is the case. So if you aren't prepared for the battle don't approach enemy lines. Otherwise, MAN UP and deal with the loss.