So, I haven't finished with Thursday yet, have I?

After our encounter with Leslie (who, by the way, wanted to be notified next time we went on a spree, which is unfortunate for her because she has a job, and we always seem to get started at lunch), we lurched off to look for a cafe and coffee for Maggie, who was definitely the worst of the bunch.

I live in fear that, some day, Mr. V (ie. Maggie's husband) is going to forbid her to go out and play with me anymore. I'm pretty sure he thinks I've corrupted her already, which is not fair. The rot set in when she set foot in Italy. It does that to people. I might have made things worse, but I don't think I'd even go that far. I am, however, usually up for aiding and abetting.

You see, M and V are Christians. They were both brought up believing that alcohol is a sin. Always. I've asked M how their parents explained the wedding at Cana or, even better, Communion. She said they couldn't. M no longer believes this, and seems to be making up for lost time. V still doesn't really drink, although he does deviate from his coca-cola (con gaucho=ghiaccio=ice, per favore) for the occasional glass of wine these days. One. Even had a limoncello on Valentine's day. THAT opened his eyes, I'll tell ya. I, on the other had, am Catholic, meaning it's practially a sin not to drink. (Drunk, however, is still bad.) After church, we have coffee in the cloisters and the guys serving it are always trying to have you "correct" it with grappa. Always a bad idea, grappa, and an even worse one before noon.

I might as well explain where V got his pseudonym at this point. V is short for VCR. VCR is because he has a very expensive habit of buying them. He has, in fact, purchased four-- or he claims three, but there were three last time I was at their house, before his latest aquisition. I was there specifically to get at least one of them to work properly, but V and another guy who came to dinner started playing with them, and they decided that girls probably couldn't help anyway. They didn't succeed, by the way. I know that there were three because he had them all stacked up, even the useless ones. He got number four to work, so Maggie but up the other three. When he got home from work that night, he went straight to turn on the TV (cuz that's what kind of guy he is) and immediately noticed the missing electronics tower. Apparently, he almost cried. Couldn't understand why she would want to do such a thing.

In any case, we went in search of coffee. We found a cute little place with lots and lots of plants (fake), parrots (wooden) and pirates (ditto). A cocktail bar, in other words. Still this is Italy, and you can get a more or less decent coffee anywhere. Although Hot coffee is another matter. So we open up the opus that is the menu, and after much searching found the coffee section. It had Irish coffee, Hawaiian coffee (kaluha), Italian coffee (amaretto), Scotch coffee (Scotch-- and a travesty). Coffees with benedictine, kirsch, Baileys, Grand Marnier, rum-- everything except plain old espresso.

Never mind, Maggie, I said, you can always just order some espresso.

You guys get what you want, I'm having a strawberry daquiri.

Right.

So I had a mediocre Margarita, and Angie had a grasshopper. (Wow, she must have been drunk.) And it was a nice place. They brought us lots of snacks, like they do, and we enjoyed it. Bathroom was outside, across the courtyard and cold, but clean.

Then it was time to meet the men. I was a bit apprehensive about this, as I really don't want V to hate me for "getting" his wife drunk, but oddly enough the daquiri seemed to have sobered her up. Our new friends, the bar guys, called and called for a taxi but couldn't get through-- Trade Show. I even pulled out my telefonino and tried, but no dice. So Maggie and I set off in search of a taxi. Angie very wisely went home.

There's a trick to getting a taxi during trade fairs. You must prowl, get lucky, and slide in one door at the fares slide out the others. Then, you play dumb foreigner if the driver says he has another fare waiting somewhere else. If it's fashion week you wear high heels, a short skirt, and nothing but black. And we did get lucky, didn't take us ten minutes. And so we went off to The Pub, where U1 and U2 were celebrating their impending departures. I don't like this, because it's going to leave W with three times the work and he works enough as is. But, on the other hand, they are escaping The Penquin, and I can't really resent them for such good fortune.

I was very tired on Friday.

My Italian teacher did not, however, try to talk about politics or history or sociology-- she just stuck to the book. Perhaps she's finally got the hint? Just as well, as I really was not in the mood.

Then I went out to lunch with Angie and Maggie.

I'm beginning to sense a pattern, here.