Can't let your guard down for a moment- M

June 8,

After my run-in with the nefarious umbrella salesman, I became (in my opinion) justifiably paranoid.   They sold everything:  umbrellas, both asian parasols to protect from the sun as well as the crappy ones that fell apart when you needed them most, overpriced drinks & food strategically presented so as to imply more meat & cheese than there actually were & toys.  They sold toys that glowed, spun & flew.  They sold round little balls that you could throw against the wall where they would splat & then ever so slowly reconstitute themselves eerily into their original shape.  For some reason, they all seemed to be of Indian or Pakistani descent. Every street vendor attempting to solicit my business was chased off with scowls & curses.  "No way, man!  I'm not falling for THAT again!"

And Gwen would giggle at the sour negotiations going on.

Today, while breathing in the splendor of the Borghese park with my sweetheart, another fiendish entrepreneur approached the bench we occupied.  I saw him as he spotted us from across the promenade, a bunch of roses in one hand, multi-colored twine in the other.

"Flower?". He held out a rose that seemed to approach middle age.

"No, thank you," I replied civilly but warily.

"But, your girlfriend is so beautiful!"

My spider sense began to tingle.  I raised my internal warning sign to defcon 4.  Shields up!  We were headed into An Unpleasant Encounter.

"Yes, she is.  But, we won't be spending any money right now."

"Where are you from? English?"

Crap!  I thought.  He's engaging us in conversation!  All hands on deck!  Ready torpedo tubes 1 & 2!

"No," chirps the ever-friendly Gwendolyn. "We're from Florida."

"Ahh, how lovely!  Then this is a gift for you!".  He handed her the rose.

Defcon 5!  Prepare to fire torpedoes!  Ready the escape pods!

"No thank you." she says.  "We have nothing for you."

"It's a gift," he says innocently. 

Gwen looked at the recently-passed-it's-prime flower doubtfully.  Then, we both thanked him through compressed lips.  He shoved the roses under an armpit & extracted one of the brightly colored twine.  He knotted it elaborately around Gwendolyn's wrist.

"We have no money for you!" we said in unison. 

"It's a gift," he repeated.  He pointed to the Vatican in the distance.  "It's good luck.". He pulled another piece of twine & offered to tie it around my wrist.

"We really have no money for you!" I insisted less forcefully now.

"It's a gift.  Good luck." he smiled & nodded deferentially toward St. Peter's basilica.  I held my wrist out.  He knotted the twine carefully while my heart filled with shame with the sudden realization that I had unjustly generalized the street vendors.  "Thank you." I said quietly.

"Now, you have gift for me?"

"What?!?!"

"You give me gift.  Five euro."

"We have no money for you!" We were practically singing this now.

 "No change in your pocket? You won't look?"

"No." I said it simply.  My mental trigger finger itched furiously now.  Gwen handed him back the unwanted flower (who could have ever thought of such a thing?).  He took it back with a scowl & walked away.

We tried to remove the twine but it was securely fastened with some Gordian variation. So, we wandered away with the unwanted & unasked for bangles.  But after a little while, the idea of the constant micro-grifting we'd been subject to made the thin little bracelets seem unusually heavy.  We cut them off with butter knives over lunch consisting of Greek salad, eggplant parmesan, bruschetta, tiramisu, strawberries with cream & the perfunctory awesome cappuccino.  All of which we happily overpaid for.

With a credit card, of course. We're lucky the guy didn't operate with credit.