The American Girlfriend
We text on WhatsApp. There’s something about it that feels even more risqué because its an app.
He watches me make pasta, unwrap my new rug, and re organize my fridge.
He tells me goodnight or buonanotte and blows me a kiss, un baci. I ask why one kiss, he replies, it is not about the amount of kisses but about the meaning of the kiss.
He tells me to look into Dostoevsky and reminds me of the new Paolo Sorrentino film I should watch.
He thinks of me as the girl who lives across the ocean and eats takeout while watching Netflix. That is true. But in reality? I’m learning that a surprising number of American adults think chocolate milk comes from brown cows.