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“No!”

“Then come on, let’s go.”

We reached the Pitti Palace and came across the single weirdest statue I’d seen all day.

I’d been joking about the spitting monkeys.

I wasnotjoking about this one. It was seriously bizarre.

A short, morbidly obese man, at least 300 pounds with a tiny wiener, was sitting buck naked on the back of a giant tortoise.

I shit you not.

“We’re back in the weird section again,” I announced. “The weirdgaysection.”

Emilia was howling with laughter. “Maybe some women like that!”

“Doyoulike that?”

“NO!”

“Weird gay section,” I pronounced authoritatively. “I’m out. Let’s go.”

As we walked back through the massive hedges, I said, “I’ve got a confession to make.”

“What’s that?” Emilia asked.

“I don’t know jack shit about the Boboli Gardens.”

“NO,” she said in feigned disbelief, then laughed.

“Was it that obvious?” I asked with a grin.

“Uh,yeah.”

“Damn,” I said, pretending like I was really disappointed.

Then I actuallydidgive a real reaction: a hint of annoyance. “Fuckin’ Boboli Gardens. Worst date ideaever.”

“No it wasn’t!” she protested.

I gave her a look likeCome on.

“It was really pretty!” she insisted. “And you were hilarious!”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” I said in relief.

“Why did you bring me here in the first place?”

“One of my bosses recommended it.”

She looked at me in disbelief. “You asked your boss for a recommendation?”

“I askedeverybodyfor a recommendation. Lucia said we should fuck in the bushes.”

Emilia laughed out loud. “That sounds like Lucia.”

Then, suddenly, Emilia got an impish look on her face.