Mr. X and I took a whirlwind trip through Europe this weekend! Be jealous. Well. Sort of. We did it without airplanes. We did it without leaving the confines of the beltway. Sort of.
Italy: Saturday Morning
I finally got to cross off something on my to-do list. It is a rare moment when I find something about D.C. that I love. For City Paper’s “Best of,” I had several votes of my own, but I didn’t submit them because I hate letting a great secret out. So my hairdresser? The best. But I’ll never tell. My favorite restaurant? Better than the best. But I’ll never tell. But Saturday morning, Mr. X and I trotted off in search of something I had heard of before but had never ventured out to find.
I feel like I’m channeling Cube right now with a post about a D.C. attraction.
Litteris is this little Italian Grocery Store and Deli hidden in the much grittier Northeast but in a neighborhood I can’t help but liken to the Canal Street of my childhood when my parents would drag us down to the Bowery in the wood paneled Ford LTD…
Litteri’s had excellent reviews and since I have been in search of how to make a low fat low calorie Cannoli, this was the place to start. And end. We spent a lot of time and a lot of money, but it was well worth it and we’ll soon be going back to visit the store again, probably when I run out of Cannoli shells.
Germany: Saturday Night
Craving an Indie flick, Mr. X and I decided to head to E Street and catch The Reader. That movie was so good. That movie was so good. That movie was so good. That’s all I can say about that. Only one thing would have made it better. If the guy in front of us didn’t pull out his nail clippers during the previews and start cutting, wait for it, his TOENAILS in the theatre. And it wasn’t like, “Oh, my pinky toenail is hurting me,” it was more like, “Now would be a good time and place for a pedicure.” It was beyond gross. When I was saying loudly enough to Mr. X so that hopefully the guy could hear, “THAT IS SO GROSS THE GUY IN THE NEXT OFFICE AT WORK CUTS HIS NAILS AND I AM OFFICIALLY MORE GROSSED OUT NOW THAN I AM WHEN HE DOES IT.” Mr. X said, “Well, then don’t look now.”
Who doesn’t look when someone says “Don’t Look?” Really. That’s the last thing to say when you want me to not look.
Very bad idea.
Greece: Sunday Morning
So I met the mom. Mr. X’s Greek mother who, unshockingly, is like a clone of my own mother – not in appearance because believe me, my mom is fighting age by use of bottled color much like her daughter, but they are like in the things she says. I was amazed. I swear if you disguised their voices like they do for the witnesses on the true crime shows, you would totally think they were the same person.
“Everyone in Athens is so rude. They never want to help you they just tell you to ‘go over there.'”
“Mr. X if you had taken my advice, you would have been much better off.”
“Aren’t you going to eat something? You should eat something. Your diet won’t be hurt by this lard soaked sugar-laden cherry turnover, will it?”
The best part might have been when she asked me if I loved Greece and I was like, “Um, no, not so much.” No, wait. The best part might have been when she started telling me a story in Greek and I was like, “Huh?” I telepathically said to Mr. X, “If she’s not yelling gamisu, gamoti or skata, then I really don’t understand, because the only thing they said in the direction of my brothers and I were the swears.”
That was that. She loves me. All parents love me. I said as much to Mr. X. Actually, it was more gloating in the way of, “Ha ha, compared to your ex wife I am your mothers DREAM! I went to grad school, I have a job, I don’t have kids I’ll make you support, she loves me. She might love me more than you.”
He said, “Keep that up and I’ll tell her you beg me to fuck you in the ass.”
Touche.