|Taken from the window of my shuttle taxi. Sigh. Want the Vespa. But the Colliseum is pretty cool, too.|
I don't run. Ever. So when I got to the far other end of the departure lounge, I was hyperventilating like a panicked, middle-aged, sedentary book-type might. Of course, I was on time. But oh, barely. And the little twerps at Air Canada tried to give me this whole song and dance about how there were about 150, no, 200, no, 300 passengers including crying babies, a hockey team, a school band, and a cat, all brandishing pitchforks, ready to skewer me for holding up the flight. Which I didn't! We left on time. My seatmate didn't even realize that there had been any sort of wait at all. But I think I had odd heart palpitations till we were halfway across the Atlantic.
Oh, and speaking of my seatmate, he was this nice young guy from Pittsburg en route to Zurich to attend a...(wait for it) watch convention. Perfect!
When I did finally get a pizza (yum!), I was suddenly struck with self-doubt.
Help me out here, folks:
When in Rome, does one eat pizza with a knife and fork or by hand?