Random Esquire

The Italian and I were shooting it back and forth on the phone earlier today. Per our usual, we were discussing women. He’s been seeing a woman recently and they met up today for some mid-day coffee at Starbucks. In the background of our conversation, I heard his cell phone vibrate and I said, “Oh man, who’s sending you a message?” He said, “Oh! It’s her! She’s texting me back because I sent her a message after I saw her and told her ‘I can still feel that hug you gave me.’”

I said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.”

He paused.

I said, “Mangina. MANGINA.”

He laughed.

I said, “Send her another text and say, ‘After I’m done painting your toenails tonight, we can go see Atonement.’” Then I ridiculed him. He laughed.

This is what I dig about The Italian. He knows he’s a sensitive bastard and he really just does not care if I pile it on. I could picture him in his office, grinning as he listened to me. He just doesn’t care. It doesn’t faze him. And why should it? She sent him a text message back that ended with “XOXOXO.”

Ya gotta dig The Italian.