A couple of months after flushing Kartrashian Countryman out, I had a chance to head down to Mexico for a three-day weekend in Riviera Maya. This time, I brought my friend Amber. We were in a club, where I was buzzed enough to be dancing on a couch or a table or some other piece of furniture, when I saw a guy peering up at me. Turns out he was from Italy (no snaggle tooth here), but living in Playa del Carmen. Apparently, my dancing made an impression on the boy. He must have had tequila goggles on, because I am a terrible dancer.
Two weeks later, he showed up on my doorstep in New York. Because he spoke zero English, I had a hard time determining how long he planned to stay… And exactly when he planned to leave! Don’t get me wrong; he was a really nice guy with a heart of gold, but communicating with him was like playing a game of charades for five straight days. Plus, he smelled like Marlboro Reds, and since he snored like a buzz saw, sleeping together was a no-go. I kicked him to the couch after about four hours.
