If Nuns could fly

OK, this is totally out of order, but this is Italian Mishap #2. It happened about a week before Mishap #1 and pretty much involves the same specifics.

The picture above is the view from my teeny tiny hotel room (yes, Simon, I will be blogging all about the travel specifics of my trip in my other blog, in due time ;). It looks down onto the courtyard of an old, beautiful church. The view isn't pefect though because there is some sort of low roof between my hotel and the courtyard, but that at least means that I have some privacy and don't have to worry about closing the blinds when I get dressed because whoever is in the churchyard can't physically see me over the roof.

So I languish around my room, curtains and windows open, head heavy with jetlag, body drenched with the 100% humidity and thus sporting only underwear (no thongs this time).

I sit at my wee table and starting painting my toenails with this shocking blue nailpolish that I snagged at Sephora down the street.

By the time my nails are done, I look down and admire them. Odd, but pretty.

Then I look up.

There is a NUN, on the roof, looking in my room with a look of shock and horror on her face. She has a broom in hand and has obviously noticed me in my underwear during mid-sweep.

Problem now is, I don't want to further scare the lady by acting mortified and embarassed and indignant (which I was), so I smile and continue to sit there and redo my nails like I am so totally used to having Nuns see me in next to nothing.

So for those of you who have access to my Facebook, THAT is why my status was "Is sorry that a Nun had to see her in her underwear."


I'm starting to think my subconcious is an exhibitionist.