I had hoped spending three weeks in Italy, where reportadely any American could be picked up would cure my fear of men. I pictured ngiths spend at the bars laughing with my newest Gucci or Pradad wearing companion, adoring his accent and teaching him how to correctly pronounce some American phrase. The next day I would waltz into wrok (my excuse for being in Italy, a three week conference on International advertising) and gossiping about the previous night. I imagined calm and relaxing days, doning a little shoppin, maybe taking in a few sights.

None of this would be true I realized my fourth day in Florence. I was late for work and finding it hard to navigate around the tourists surrounding the Piazza della Republica and the Duome as I ran to catch my bus. i had made the mistake, once again, of looking some guy in the eye and smiling. After that, he just had to talk to me., making me late. Now I can't lose him and he doesn't seem to understand that I'm late and don't want to be bothered.

"Please, just one drink!Amici! We are friends, no?"

"I'm late for work, I don't have time for a drink."

"Ok, we be friends. You come get a drink with me."

"No, I don't have time."

"You have a telephone number?"

"No, I don't."

"Aspetta! Wait, I give you mine. You call me and we go out, get a drink."

"I am late. I don't have time to wait. I need to catch my bus."

"But we are friends."

So it goes until I reach the bus stop. I just make it into the bus before the doors close. I'm breathing hard and sweating, wishing I had some ice cold water. I feel as if I'm being watched. I glance up and notice a group of men staring at me. This time I stare resolutley at the floor.

"Christina, aren't you just a player."

I don't need to look up to know who's insulting me. It's David, the man who has been trying to make my life a living hell since I joined teh firm three years ago. I've been recounting my morning adventures to Jane and Cindy, two of the women I often work with. I wish I could come up with something witty to say. Something sharp that would let him know that I , too, can play that game. Though of course, I can't.

"Tu sei bellissima" he adds for good measure letting me know just how long he's been standing behind me.

"At least someone thinks so." I say quietly without turning around.

"Too bad that someone is a little Pazzo, crazy. Honestly Christina, they'll tell that to everyone."

I turn and glance at him before walking quickly away. I don't want to let him see me cry.

Okay so its not like I enjoy being chased and harrassed by random Italian men. But I must admit it made me feel powerful. No one has ever been so interested in buying me a drink or talking to me. Never have so many people told me I was beautiful. David's right of course. They do say the same thing to everyone. But I liked pretending that I was special.

"Christina."

I don't want to be bothered to talk to anyone else, so I hope that if I ignore them whoever has interrupted my reflections will go away. This, of course is impossible.

"Christina, I heard about what happened."

My head snaps up in embarassment, Why am I the subject of gossip? Doesn't everyone have better things to do or better things to gossip about? I see that Mark is standing in front of me, a worried expression on his face.

"Don't worry about it" I hear myself saying. i've just met Mark this past week. He's been really  helpful to me already. Still, I'm angry that he's already heard about my situation.

"Don't listen to David, he doesn't know what he's talking about. You are beautiful, you should be told that every day."

"Thanks," I say sniffing. "God, I feel like I'm back in fifth grade."

Mark smiles and puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. At that moment, I wanted a hug so badly my body aches. He seems to sense this need and pulls me close.

"Anytime you need a friend," he says, "I'm here for you."

"Thanks." I say pulling away."

"So, what do you think? You ready to go back out there and learn how advertisments get messed up in translation?"

"I'm a mess"

"Nothing a little cold water won't fix." He turns on the faucet and for a minute I'm not sure what I'm suppose to do. Then I bend over and splash the water on my face a couple times. When I stand up straight again, Mark has a paper towel waiting.

"Thanks." I say again, smiling, Lets go tell the Chinese to eat their fingers."

Later, I decide to go out with Mark, Cind, and Jane. After a few drinks, I was feeling a little loose. I was still feeling dejected from the wents of that morning.

"Whats wrong with me?" I blurted before I could stop myself. Three sets of eyes stared back at me.

"Honey theres nothing wrong with you," Cindy was the first to say.

"What are you talking about?" asked Jane.

"I mean, why can't I get a guy?"

"This morning your problem was being harassed by guys," pointed out Cindy.

"yeah but they'll go after anything in a skirt."

"ALL guys will go after anything in a skirt." Mark adds.

" I wear skirts all the time at home, no one has ever come after me."

"Well," Mark begins, I'm starting to regret this topice of discussion, "they're just stupid."

"Don't flatter me. Tell the truth. What am I doing wrong?" I look at Cindy and Jane for help, but they both just shrug.

I read that in my sisters room. Its good isn't it. It feels like it should be a story thats not finished yet. Hmm.. I see a project coming on.