The Man, The Mission

Here he is. The man on the mission. My dear partner. My rock. My wind-beneath-my-wings. My driver. My pilot. My cohort. My conspirator. My man. My man-a-ger. Get it? He needs to manage me, more often than not. The morning that we walked down the hill in Fisole toward the bus stop, to head further down the hill into Firenze (that's Florence, for all you non-Italian readers) I saw these happily painted tables near the town square and thought, "that's where we should eat tonight." One of the biggest challenges in Italy is choosing where ya wanna eat. So many choices. So many amazing choices. So here's my Allen in my choice of restaurants -- in his brand new Italian striped shirt. We had been keeping an eye out all day for a blue striped Italian shirt to take home as an appropriate memory. He was being especially price-aware and turned down all of my choices based on budget. Right at the end of the afternoon we went into a 'resale' shop. They had one striped men's shirt. It looked like it had been tailor made for him. The price was right!!! Voia!!