Another good question, one that philosphers have been trying to answer for millenia now. It would be pretentious of me to think I have the answer, especially when I don't. (And I really can't stand pretentious people. Even myself, on the ever-so-rare occasions when I am.)

I can tell you, however, what I am like, and what I like. I like red wine, especially kick-ass Bartolos and Brunellos. I like to cook, and to eat. I adore cheese, even the ones that smell like old socks and cleaning supplies. I like champagne. I like skiing and people watching, and wandering around in old grand churches. I like spicy food, and smoky pubs, and cozy neighborhood restauraunts. I like reading and writing and listening to music. I like hanging out with friends--usually in smoky pubs and bars. I like smoking, and have no intention of quitting in the foreseeable future. I like boots, black leather ones with pointy toes and high heels. I like throwing parties, especially the wild ones that end at 5am that no one can quite remember the next day. (Although that doesn't usually happen any more. I put that down to my friends being just too old, although I'm usually still raring to go when they all leave.) I like art museums and castles and football games-- both NFL and soccer. I like pizza with extra sauce and spicy sausage and black olives. I like Italy, and living in Italy. I like learning new languages, which comes in handy. I like snow. I love my cat, although I don't always like her when she's being a pain in the ass. I love my husband. Even when he's being a pain in the ass. I like being snuggled up in bed like spoons. And I like Sex.

Lots.

I retired from my career at the grand old age of 31, got married, and follow my husband around the world, which I like. Mostly I like not working, although I miss it. Sometimes I get lonely, and homesick for silly things. For instance, I miss driving to the supermarket once a week, putting all my stuff in the trunk of my car, driving home, and actually having space to put away all the food etc. that I bought. Hauling groceries on public transport is not fun, especially when you get a maniac bus driver who seems intent on making his passengers ricochet from one wall to the other, bouncing of seats and fellow passengers on the way. (And they're all maniac bus drivers) And I miss my car full stop. I miss walking in to a bar or shop or whereever and being able to talk to random folks without worring about whether they speak English or if my foreign language skills are up to it. And I worry about looking ridiculous just because I don't know how things work. Although I don't mind looking ridiculous for doing clumsy, stupid things-- I'm used to that. I worry about losing my friends when we move, and making new ones. But generally, I try not to worry too much. I don't like it.

Apart from my husband (which is boring and corny and all too true), all that I really want, in fact, is to be happy.