Friday, April 16, 2010
I recently developed a strange obsession and it is starting to worry me. It's more an irrational fear than an obsession, really. I have developed a fear of gypsies.
Why, oh why would a tech savvy (I have a blackberry AND and direct deposit yo!) individual like your girl Diary be concerned with an old fashioned and irrelevant notion like gypsies? I'll tell you why. . . because I have been warned - not once, not twice, but thrice (yup, it's a word, look it up).
Now here's the big reveal (not that telling you that I have an irrational fear of gypsies is a small reveal) - I have a thing for the number three. It is my FAVORITE number and I prefer things in threes. Not so much in an OCD kinda way, but yeah, sorta in an OCD kinda way. So if I hear a rumor three times, then I start to believe it. It is my magic number. And once I started telling people that we were considering a trip to Rome, I started getting warnings about gypsies. The third warning plopped me directly on the bus to crazytown.
Rome, the eternal city. Home to some of the most famous sites and landmarks known to man - the Coliseum, the Forum, the Trevi Fountain and apparently, to gypsies.
The area that seems to draw the most gypsy warnings is the Trevi Fountain. I was all excited to have a little La Dolce Vita, but with all the warnings of marauding bands of gypsies on the hunt for tourists at the fountain, it kind of pops a hole in my daydreams.
Initially, I thought, BFD, I'm city savvy. If I can hang in NYC and if I understand the street rules there, then how prone am I on the streets of Rome? But it's different, because NY thugs only have guns, knives, darts and hypodermic needles. Gypsies have magic powers.
Because of this and my rule of three, I am now obsessed with gypsies and I see them everywhere. I was shopping up in the Poconos last weekend, and I could swear I saw gypsies in the paint department, but I think it was just the "People of Walmart". And tonight, while grocery shopping, a woman in a long flowing skirt and dangly jewelery bumped into me as her cart passed mine in the cereal aisle. I snapped my head to look at her and just as I was about to scream "Be gone you dirty gypsy. You're not ripping me off tonight!" I got a better look at her. She was clearly more of a furry legged, granola crunching, women's lit professor than a thieving gypsy. Thank god I didn't open up a that can of gypsy whoop-ass that I have started carrying around. I am just paranoid and keyed up enough to go a couple of rounds with an unsuspecting Phish fan. Hell, any woman in a broomstick skirt is immediately suspect to me. My fightclub strategy for the first gypsy that runs afoul of me is to pull her long skirt up over her head and hockey fight her.
At this point, we are only in the investigative stages and no official trip has been planned. It is looking like it is going to require a lot of time off work and a lot of money to make it worthwhile. So in the mean time, I will dream of La Dolce Vita and have nightmares about Esmerelda. Between now and then, the gypsies better steer clear of me. . .oh, and I'm puttin out a notice to the tramps and thieves, too.