Italian begging is different.

There are a lot of beggars here, in Milan.

There are those whose ‘job’ it is, sitting on the pavements, hand outstretched, wanting money. Italians, down on their luck; people with deformities or missing or mis-shapen limbs – showing off those limbs like some circus freak show; ordinary people who want to cadge a cigarette from you.

And then, yesterday afternoon there was the guy asking me for a couple of euro for ice-cream!

I mean to say, I understand all the other people – but begging for ice-cream?????

Only in Italy, I’m sure.

Going some places and not others …….. at least, not yet!

“No, I haven’t been invited, yet”, I reply.

He pulls a face and makes that little sound that says he’s ever so lightly annoyed. I smile and touch his arm. It’s my little joke, as he knows. Yet, it’s no joke really and he knows that too. It puts some pressure on him but I never mention it unless someone asks me. I won’t do that. It’s part of the game. The one where I don’t push; where I wait for him to suggest or make the first move. The rules were set up from the beginning – from the time when I would have moved in with him in a second and he wanted to take it so slow. It’s now the habit.

We had been talking about summer holidays. Someone asked where we planned to go. I get that warm and fuzzy feeling knowing that we have discussed the possibilities and I can repeat them without fear that they won’t happen. I start saying the options that we’ve been thinking of.

“We’re going to Puglia”, he says, interrupting me. “I already booked”

“You did?”, I query.

“Yes, I’m just waiting for the confirmation.”

I turn to the other dinner party guests and say “We’re going to Puglia, apparently”.  They laugh.

He’s spontaneous – but it’s always planned spontaneity, if you understand me. I am happy for it. I am excited by it. The place will have a pool,I know. The place will take the dogs, I know. There’ll be the sitting by the pool and the long walks with the dogs. There’ll be the trips to towns or some other places. It will be as perfect as it could be for me. I am so very happy about this. Puglia is a great place to go. We will have two weeks or 10 days and I don’t care since we shall be together, all four of us.

Then someone asks him about where he comes from. And then they turn to me and ask if I’ve been, expecting a ‘yes’. Instead they get the response I wrote at the top of this post. I want to go but I can and will wait. It is only very gentle pressure that I am applying – it’s not a ‘deal breaker’ and I want it to happen when he’s ready (or when other people are ready, maybe).

I expect it will be before Puglia – just for a weekend but there are many things before Puglia.

Later, in bed, we kiss. I am so happy that, now, we can kiss properly again and tell him so. We hold each other and, again, I think that I am so very fortunate.