Finding purity in a dream and a pot of tomatoes.
Since the age of 16, I’ve had a frequently recurring dream. The setting is always the same: A small village in Italy, a cottage overlooking the sea. I don’t possess any of my fair German attributes; rather I’m olive-skinned with dark hair (and since it’s my dream, I resemble a young Sophia Loren). By the setting’s color palette and style of yellow dress I’m always wearing, it appears to be late 1940s. Because I’ve chosen to remain unmarried, instead having a steady supply of lovers (if you looked like Sophia Loren, you would too), I’m treated by the rest of the deeply religious villagers as a persona non grata. That is until one day, I win their hearts. And since we’re talking about Italians, naturally it’s through their appetite.
From a bumper crop of tomatoes grown in my idyllic garden-by-the-sea, ...
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