Hellloo Daaaahllling

Last week my Italian crazy summer-lover called me three times. I didn't pick up. Not that I wanted to be difficult. Just didn't feel like it. Then I got two text-messages "Wen can I cal u?" and "Is your bat stil low dahling? ". Last thing I heard from him was a text message three months ago "Ok if you dont want me anymore just sand me a yes and I will cancel you forever". And I texted YES. I guess I got a bit curious in this sudden interest. So I called him.

- "Heeeeloo Daahling", I heard his soft whiskey voice.
- "Whazzup Roberto?"
- "Wat do you mean?", he continued in his strong melodical Italian accent.
- "Why have you been chasing me this week?"
- "Ahh, daahling, I needed to say a few things..." he mutters. My mind started to make great rollercoaster loops: "My god, this is it! He will now tell me he has a deadly disease and I will be finished in 3 months!" I took a deep breath.
- "How come you have my number, I thought you erased me forever? ", I sharpened my voice.
- "Oh you know swettie, you are EVERYWHERE!"
- "So, what was it that you wanted".
- "But swettie pie, you can't ask like dat. You know I am an emotions man. I wanted to tell you things when I called on Wednesday. But I don't feel like this now."
- "WHAT THINGS ROBERTO?"
- "Oooo, now you get a bit curious you little sexy Ice-cube, warm up, I was just... thinking of you...!" he giggled, obviously very pleased with my interest in him.
I sighed of relief. Seemed as if I am not fatally ill. Just still in arm-lengths reach of a crazy Italian with a too strong interest in Jack Daniels.