Oh, this Danish vintage sofa. Not overly practical (or comfortable) I admit, but so gorgeous. I'm getting kind of tired of Italian "vintage" shops and their likes - the furniture is just never what I'm hoping for , nor are the prices (initially, I always think the price tag is some sort of joke. And then I realize it's not). If you like heavy, huge pieces made out of dark wood this is the place for it, but I have yet to find anything resembling the sleeker and, at least according to me, more beautiful designs so very familiar to us Scandinavians.
I sometimes feel like somewhat of a different species here in Italy. My taste in things, clothes and music seem to differ from your average Bergamasca. Women in the north of Italy kind of look the same to me (as do men but I tend to observe women more than men, simply because they're usually more interesting to watch). They are generally really pretty, wear the same kind of clothes and shoes in dark colours, their hair is kept long (and, I have to admit, gorgeously shiny and well groomed). And then, the biggest mystery: the way some women greet their female friends with something that could easiest be described as... baby talk? I mean, I also love my girlfriends to death, but pretty much every day I hear grown-up women address each other in this very high pitched voice and it's freaking me out a little bit. Some of Andrea's friends greet me the same way, and I never quite know how to respond. They treat me, meaning well I'm sure, like a puppy or a tiny baby goat or something similar, not a soon-to-be 31-year old.
Other mysteries I'm battling with at the moment are a) why snow is the tastiest treat in the world to my dog b) why my housebroken dog started peeing inside again - see A I guess c) why my dog all of a sudden has an extreme obsession with panties and socks and d) how the hell I'm gonna survive this cold we're having at the moment. To be continued.
This upcoming week should be interesting. I'll be starting with Italian private lessons tomorrow, here at home. The schools were just too pricy and the classes too slow, so when I encountered this Italian lady (who also happens to be a teacher) through her Swedish mum, I felt that it could be a good solution. I am extremely tired/ashamed of my crappy Italian and I can't wait to have an actual conversation with Andrea's lovely grandfather who wants nothing more in life than to be able to speak to me.
Have a great Sunday!
Tiny footnote: please don't get me wrong: I'm not saying that Italian women don't know how to dress because they do (Milan, anyone?). I'd just wish for a little bit more colour and originality, that's all.
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