I don’t know what the opposite of a “cougar” is. What would you call a 20-something woman going an older man? I suggested “bobcat,” a term which which [amazingly] is backed up by Urban Dictionary. Either way, that’s what I am for Anthony Bourdain. Rawr.
It was a love I hid, a crush I only revealed to those closest to me, but now I can’t hide it. He is too brilliant. I shout it from the rooftops: I love this man. Yes, I got it bad, but I never realized how bad until I caught my face inching closer to my monitor while reading his blog entry on Venice. Like I was leaning in for a kiss.
Even in the middle of tourist season, we managed, I think, to make Venice look hauntingly empty. A single street sweeper in an otherwise deserted Piazza San Marco, backstreets populated only by Venetians, sipping their drinks and looking idly out at the world, a private world of simple good things set against a backdrop of Europe’s most beautiful living museum, slowly sinking into the Adriatic.
