Italian Heat

When I arrived in Dublin last year I had convinced myself I would find a flat within two days. In Halifax it only ever took a couple of days to find a suitable place to live and since Dublin was a lot larger than Halifax, there would be a lot more options, right? Wrong. I arrived at the end of September thinking I'd missed the university rush, but it turns out I landed directly in the middle of the rush to find a flat. I couldn't have picked a worse time to be looking for accommodation. Every single place I looked at included a rigorous interview and I couldn't help but get the distinct impression that it was more a popularity competition rather than an interview for a suitable and responsible flatmate. It was really frustrating and I ended up spending nine days on my friend Sarah's couch. I was quite worried and feared actually having to go back to Canada because I couldn't find a place to live. There were plenty of rooms to SHARE with someone but that definitely wasn't my thing. I worried that I was going to get so stressed that I'd crack and end up moving into a place that was below my standards and be unhappy all year. Fortunately I met Karen and she liked me enough to allow me to share an AMAZING flat with her. It really was the best possible situation for me and I was very content. However, the same night that I first saw my dream room, I also stopped by another flat in the same neighbourhood. I had kept a fairly clear idea of what I wanted when looking at apartments and usually knew within a few seconds of walking in if it was my kind of place but when I arrived at this particular flat and rang the doorbell, a gorgeous, blond Italian 20-something guy named Paolo opened the door and with a flash of teeth that practically blinded me, he welcomed me into his home. I swear I couldn't catch my breath. He had an incredibly sexy accent and as he walked me through a teeny tiny flat and explained who the other roommates were and why he was moving, all I could do was smile, nod and try not to let the drool drip onto the worn orange shag carpet. It wasn't until he walked me back to the front door that I realised I had told him that I liked the place and he thought I was saying yes. I panicked and tried to backtrack, telling him I needed to think about it and could I call him tomorrow. He agreed but then asked me, with his ever so subtle accent, why do people say they'll call and then they don't? Oh Paolo. Other people told him exactly what I'd said and they didn't call, but would I call? Would I call? I'd jump over gaping chasms just to hear your voice again, er, I mean...yeah, I promise I'll call. Of course after leaving I didn't want to go through that uncomfortable ordeal of turning him down but after promising, I didn't want to seem like another one of those potential roommates that didn't follow through. The next morning I called. The phone rang and rang and for the briefest of moments I held my breath and thought I could just leave a message, but of course he answered the phone. He sounded so excited to hear my voice and apologised for taking so long to answer the phone, he was eating his breakfast. I immediately imagined him in boxers, a white tank top and a bowl of cheerios. Sigh. I relayed my decision to him and although he sounded disappointed in yet another person turning down the offer, he was grateful for my call. Now, I'm looking for a place in Toronto. I hope I have my wits about me when I start meeting potential roommates. Yikes.