in the tiny shop

There's a tiny shop near the Duomo, in Florence.  It's the kind of store people dash into for a pack of cigarettes or the daily paper.  Narrow, glass windows display items to appeal to American tourists like me.

I bought this bottle there.  (Spoke stood by, rolling his eyes.)  It's one liter.

I drank it in our room at the Hotel Sofitel.  Then I packed it up and brought it home.  I'm a sucker for keepsakes. 

Every trip to Florence added to my bottle collection.  This, the smallest bottle, came from that tiny shop near the Duomo. (Spoke stood by, pretending not to know me.) 

It's 50 d e, whatever that means; a bit over sixteen ounces.  I drank it at the Grand Hotel Baglioni one winter night around midnight, along with a fruit tart nightly, fruit tart.

I know what you're thinking.  Chianti?!?!  Yes, I'm a simple Sangiovese girl.  I like Chianti Classico and anything from Castellina In Chianti.  Also, there's just something about those straw covered bottles...

Then there was that one trip when we passed by the tiny shop near the Duomo, and I spotted the big one.  It's one point five liters.  (I won't even tell you what Spoke did.)  It's now our olive oil jar. 

We use a lot of olive oil here at 3906.

I have an urge to throw it over my shoulder and head into the woods.  I'd build a fire.  I could grill crusty bread and scorch shrimp still in their shells, then douse them all with fruity, olive oil. 

I'd lick my lips and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.