The Dream: Me on a pink Vespa Italiana, wearing shorts, scarf and windswept hair, whistling Luna Pop and scooting about the (Roman) streets. Then, me parking, taking off helmet with prolonged and pronounced flicker of my because-I'm-worth-it long straight hair (which would never know a bad hair day).
The Fact: When I tried um, scooting, I could barely see the road with the sweat beads traffic-jamming my eyes. And, had to stop very kind people to help me lift the thing off the ground each time me and the machine rolled off at a tangent. And my hair was (much) more Arsenic Lupin than Margot.
The Bubble: Burst. My dream could never come true.
The Crisis: Why? Why? Why? Was it me? Was it the scooter? Did we get together at the wrong time? Did we just need some space?
The Moral: C'est la vie.
The Dream: One day (some) dreams do come true, one hopes.
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