Oh, United States of A how good it is to be back in you. No more ridiculous electrical outlets. No more commas for decimal points. Just this morning I was able to crawl out from my blanket, slide the glass door open, slip out into a pleasantly cool morning, and pee into my parents lawn. These are all things you (Italy), won’t allow me to do. Your lawn (Italy) wouldn’t have been full of deer for instance. Maybe some of those weird antelope-esque creatures you seem to be able content your self with.
Now don’t get mad. You should remember (Italy), that your showers made my hair feel like a large Ducati riding Italian man had given me a swirly. No longer. Now my swirlied hair will be only result from not showering. And (Italy), that swirly will be administered by a varsity jacket wearing football player who climbs out of a Ford Bronco. A raised Ford Bronco. Chopped into a convertible.
Most importantly (Italy), it was your airline who lost my bright red duffel bag. Twice. I hope you’re happy. Because, you know what (Italy)... I am. I really am.
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