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So, last week, I’m scrollin’, right? This dude—tall, tatted, total dreamboat—msgs me, “Hey, sugar, let’s chill.” I’m like, ooooh, my heart’s racin’, feelin’ all Marilyn-sexy! We meet up—coffee, sure, but it’s sex-dating, hun, we both know the score. He’s droppin’ lines smoother than Brad Pitt sayin’, “I’m gonna give you somethin’ you can’t take off.” I’m gigglin’, blushin’—then bam! He ghosts me after! What the hell?! Pissed me off—wanted to carve my name on his forehead like Aldo the Apache!

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Asking me to have sex with him. Asking me if I had a condom. Singing bizarre songs about sex. Asking to be my boyfriend. Other inappropriate comments about.

First off, I hit up the Fondamenta delle Zattere. Beautiful view, right? But then, BAM! A pigeon poops on my shoulder. Like, seriously? I’m a warrior, not a pigeon target! I swear, those birds are out to get me.

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