Your Vespa. For years I have wanted to zip around town on a sporty Vespa, enjoying the feel of a cool breeze on my face and fantasizing about being a gorgeous Italian woman on a weekend getaway. No matter that I am fairly klutzy, pretty far from gorgeous, and of sturdy Dutch-German stock. That's why it's a fantasy, my dear. Anyway, thank goodness your main form of transport is a beautiful, black Vespa, so I can take full advantage of the generosity you show your friends and cruise around L.A. with my arms wrapped around your waist. Maybe we can even ride in the city's Pride parade now that you've broadcast your love for skinny, British men who don't wash their hair often enough. Just make sure you have a fairly large helmet available; my noggin' is ginormous.
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