My roommate Alex gave us the name "Postergirls for Weekends in Perugia." I was not so kind when I christened Sara, Alex and myself "Broken Dolls in Santa's Workshop." The three of us had elected to stay in Perugia this weekend, and because we were each suffering some sort of malady. Sara had a horribly bruised ankle from a Thursday night disco adventure that while I attended, I left after 5 minutes (a shame because we really worked hard to get there- the bus to get to the disco was so packed we had to sit on random Italian guys laps to get there..don't worry, minimal groping was involved), Alex was sick in every way possible, and I had lost my voice. To describe it, I sounded somewhere in between un ragazzo (boy) and a yippy dog. Tres lovely. Anyway, despite our sickness and all the reasons that we should not have, we decided to go out Saturday night.
Our good friend, Francesco, called and told us that his dear friend was having a birthday party and it was going to be the hit of Perugia, we just had to attend! Plus, it was being held in the former office building of the headquaters of LS, a once very famous european sporting clothing, which he assured me, was the top of the top, and was once worn by President Hoover. How could a girl say no to Hoover?
Saturday night arrives, with Sara is sensibly flat boots, and Alex practically overdosing on cold medication, while I handily brought along flashcards reading "Ciao" and "Voray un bebito molte forte, per favore" (I would like a strong drink, please) just in case my reed thin voice struggled to make even the slightest of sounds. Francesco picks us up in his convertible car, with the roof up, and DutchGirl, some girl that he always has around. Francesco, being 35 years old, and yet not quite knowning it, is playing a mix tape of Ja Rule, Sean Paul, and Jewel...circa 1999. Definite mood music. Especially for what we were about to endure.
As it turns out, the birthday party was not for a 20 year old, as we must have imagined, but for a 40 year old woman, and her 40 year old friends. Francesco, the pimpin' italian that he is, brought three 20 year old girls decked out in disco clothing to a 40 year old birthday party. The men were in awe of him, and the women looked decidedly sour as they sipped their pink drinks. To give the party due credit, it did look pretty spectacular. A huge circular room with glass walls, there were pink bows everywhere, pink carpeting, guests in pink, a bar serving only pink drinks, and little white leather cubes and white tables, a live band, and waiters in pink bow ties circling with pink chocolates. Pepto Bismal threw up over the entire place.
You could say we took a little too much pleasure in the open bar, but before long Sara, Alex and I were enjoying ourselves, and rocking out to such hits as "YMCA" and "RESPECT". We also brought the limbo to Italian, something not to be taken lightly, as very few Italian men would ruffle their Dolce and Gabbana to bend their torso in such a manner. The highlight of our incredibly wonderful inappropriateness was no doubt when Alex casually strolled through the lobby of the building on our way out, walking through a huge black and white patterned circle on the middle of the floor. Turns out, the circle was some sort of fountain, and had 4 inches of water in it. Elegant despite her soggy soles, Alex, Sara and I strolled out of the party knowing we had rocked the 40 year old birthday party the way 20 year olds would: drinking a tad too much, wearing a tad too sparkly clothing, shoving too many chocolates in our purses, and receiving no less than 1 invitation for a private plane ride, 2 for dinner, and 2 to travel to Milano or Roma. Great Success!
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