When I woke up this morning, I could practically taste the yogurt on my grateful tongue. I smiled in anticipatory delight, proud to maintain my rate of yogurt consumption. (I was also happy because I am fully aware that the limited space in our fridge requires that I eat around one yogurt per day; it’s not my fault that the nearby grocery store had such a prolonged yogurt sale.) Much to my surprise, my roommate, Mariam, had other plans. For the first time in documented history, I did not have to physically shake her to get her out of bed. Rather, she rose from dreamland all by herself, and before we even turned the lights on, uttered a few simple words:
“Do you want to go out for breakfast?”
I pushed the comforter that somehow always ends up on my face, off my face.
“An American breakfast?” she continued.
I paused, thought tenderly to my beloved yogurt – strawberry, blueberry, coffee, coconut, the flavors are endless – and blinked in the darkness. I had my loyalty in my heart, yes, but I also had desire in my stomach.
“Yes,” I reply.
To make a short story even longer, we went to a nearby American restaurant we had heard about, endearingly named “House of Sizzle”. When you are hit with an overwhelming and inexplicable desire to ingest several thousand calories in the form of a stack of pancakes, you really have no choice. And sizzling it was. As a visual aid (this blog welcomes all styles of learning), feast your eyes on THIS:
Due to our increased intake of sugar, we felt strangely motivated to be active. Rather than relax into the post-meal slump, we made history once again: we exercised. We embraced this typically unfamiliar activity; it’s time we live on the edge. We strode across the river Arno, arms swinging back and forth with imaginary walking poles. We conquered the hill leading up to San Minniato, and rested only upon arriving at Piazzale Michelangelo. There, we enjoyed the uncanny musical mix of a street performer guitarist and a car blasting the infamous “Oi oi oi” club song. Never did I hear a more innovative mash-up.
Even after all this, we were not done. Explorers to our very cores, we chose to tackle the unknown: a forest. After attempting to help a tourist who was allegedly “looking for The Monks”, we ascended yet another set of stairs. The sounds of Florence vanished and morphed like a well-edited Finalcut Pro transition into bird calls and twigs snapping.
And finally, after all this, we returned home. (And watched “Thank You For Smoking”.) Tomorrow I may be morally obliged to eat two yogurts to compensate for my change in routine, but as they Italians say, “vale la pena”. Buona notte.