The waiter uncorked the Chianti at the table. I was on a first date in a restaurant in Naples, Italy, my date an Italian judge with smiling eyes who lived alone, he said, when we met last week. As we waited for our pasta to come, I asked him if he was divorced or widowed. “Oh, I’m not divorced. My wife lives in her apartment in Florence.” Time halted to give me the chance to simply get up and leave. As I looked into my wine glass, I saw the next fifteen years of pure Italian passion and tainted disappointment.
Margie Haenseler is an American expat living in Europe trying to capture adventure through her writing. Enjoys authentic espresso and walking to the town square. mylittlemargie.com/