Stiletto

I arrived in Tuscany as a 25 year old newlywed, new Mamma- your typical American in dirty sneakers and sweats, hair in a ponytail. I went from playgroups with my other teacher friends, we all delivered within six weeks of each other, to strolling my child alone down the streets of Tuscany.

I found that old Italians are a lot friendlier with babies than old people living in Floridian residences.

Growing up, I read fashion magazines filled with Christie Brinkley, Cindy Crawford and Kate Moss. Since Kate Moss was just so not an option considering my ass was bigger than her entire body, my only other woman choices were Cindy and Cindy. I remember sweating to the Cindy Crawford work out tape in college with my other sorority sisters and I must say that it worked. Then I got pregnant and 50 pounds later, I shelved Cindy.

I don't know how I managed to ignore Italian fashion for twelve years, maybe the fact that I was too big to fit into the clothes helped. And then it happened. The great wake up, and I will never forget the day I stood looking around the Corso of Grosseto thinking, "Where the hell am I?" As if for the first time in a long time, I actually realized I was living in another country. At that precise moment I craved America, because I could not identify with anything in my immediate surroundings and it scared me. I flipped my ipod back on and retreated.

Slowly, I assimilated. I observed as an outsider wondering what it would take to pull me back in, while at the same time I rejected being pulled in.

For example, I dated a man who insists that women wear high heels. Never, ever in my life have I worn high heels, I'm already tall. Because I had never even considered wearing heels, I had limited my shoe-shopping to flat. Now, a whole new experience in shoe-shopping has appeared before my eyes. Sounds superficial, but apply that to your daily encounters. I didn't wear the heels to satisfy him, I wore them to try something different for me. I felt sexy. *Smile* Until I almost tripped and broke my ankle...but then I laughed because even when playing dress up, I am still me.

My skin changed.
So did my wardrobe.
And my hair.

People started whistling and seeking conversation with me. And I had no idea how to react or act. Old habits began mixing with new- my time spent as a cocktail waitress learning to diplomatically send obnoxious people away - mixed - with me realizing that the new me is international and even stylish...compared to sweats and sneakers. The best way I can describe the experience of being newly single is that of a 38 year old woman fresh out of high school, thrown into a sea of sharks carrying luggage.

I'm not interested in planning a future, settling down, having a family- I've already done that and my kids have an exceptional father, I'm just trying to fill my new heels and to see how far I can get without breaking an ankle.