LIVE & LEARN

Wednesday is my clubbing night.

The weather yesterday was temperate - not raining (for once!) and not freezing. Y'know, a moderate 50º or so. My roommates and I finished applying our eyeliner and mascara and took a few going-out pictures before we were finally ready to hit The Gallery.

"Aren't you going to wear a coat?" Erin inquired, in the more friend-than-mother sort of tone.

"No, it's really warm out and I don't want to have to check it when we get there." Bedecked with a rhinestone necklace; royal blue, cinched sweetheart-top, my favorite DKNY jeans and my newest purchase at the market: knee-high black, high-heeled boots (only 10 euro!), needless to say, I was feeling pretty good. The 5 minute walk to the club wasn't a big deal, I knew I was going to be hot the moment I got in there and hit the dance floor. Why bother with a coat for 5 minutes?

Betsy followed me with the idea and left her coat behind, while Erin threw on hers. After finishing the photo shoot, the three of us left our apartment and headed towards the discotechque. As I had remembered, it was a comfortable cool outside, but nothing I couldn't handle for a few minutes.

We rounded the corner to the Piazza del Campo, and we were all feeling pretty hot. Betsy had bought boots at the market too, and we were strutting our stuff on the cobblestone streets of Siena.

Then all hell broke loose. I kid you not.

Guys on THE OTHER SIDE of the Piazza turned to stare at us while a group of men walking by were making comments in Italian that I can only *imagine* what they meant, and another opened his coat in a mockery of us.

I have never had so many guys turn around and stare at me *in my life*. You'd think I was a celebrity or something. Goodness.

Then a guy came up to me and asked for what appeared to be a lighter for his cigarette - which none of us had. All he said was, "Prego...." in a suggestive tone. We all just laughed and kept walking - a little faster this time.

We rounded the corner and Erin stated:

"Katie! He thought you were a prostitute! "Prego" is something you say in a store. He wanted to buy you!"

OH MY GOODNESS. I received a few more obscene-ish gestures, long stares and smiles, and more Italian directed my way that I couldn't yet understand.

But, never, EVER, could I have fathomed being mistaken as a prostitute in Italy, just because I chose not to wear a coat over my tank top and knee-high boots.

.....

So apparently they think I'm a hooker. Great.