GREETINGS FROM MILAN!

Suffice to say, it was a harrowing trip from Paris — but I made it here and immediately directed my party of 6 to the best restaurant in Milan, as a walk in, without reservations. I just walked in there dressed in a t shirt and pants and demanded to be seated. The hostess despised me but luckily there was a vacancy!

So I got to eat and laugh and drink wine, in spite of her seething. Same shit happened to me in Paris. I just strolled into a two Michelin star rated bistro like I owned the place, didn’t bother to finish my food, and walked out like I had just eaten McDonald’s.

Grandma Fly was furious at me today because I made her toss out her gelato as we went into the restaurant. She claimed it was the best she’s ever had and I told her that I was “yo soy MUY terible.” She was equally mortified by my meal, which consisted of TWO PASTA dishes and a main course of pork, accompanied by a bottle of wine. I was berated heavily for being a “boracho” and also a “puerco” for piggishly devouring all of my food and drink.

My opinion of Milan was pure hatred up until I chanced upon the Duomo, which was festooned by party goers and drunkards dancing to EDM music in from of high end fashion shoppes. I could see myself at 25 or even 35 thinking this is possibly the best place in the world. But then I remembered I was a week away from 47 and hated it again.

Tomorrow we depart for Florence by train and I fully expect a flurry of complaints and demands from my companions, such as cabs coming too slow, a fully curated itinerary not maximized enough for joy and leisure, and also general complaints for starvation and thirst.