I get my party-loving ways from my dad. No one in my family would argue that fact. So when we got to Florence and he wanted to go out, I agreed and off we went.
The taxi driver dropped us off in the nightlife centre of Florence, but just like in Paris, for some reason, the first bar we stopped in to was a karaoke bar. Oye.
We were stone-cold sober, so I figured, what the hell, let's do shots!
So I ordered two Irish Car Bombs.
My pa had no idea what the hell was put in front of him. As he dropped in his shooter glass, he abandoned the drink, so I had to do both of them. Fun!
We had a couple of beers there, watched American students sing Katy Perry & songs from Grease and then continued our stroll. Stopped in another lounge, which went from packed to empty in five minutes. I blame Bobby. Finally we ended in a full-on nightclub on reggae night. I pounded my drink and got us out of there. Awkward.
Iris / Bobby time happens very rarely, so even among the drunken students, this was totally a vacation highlight.
2 comments:
Did you have to explain to the bartender what an Irish Car Bomb is? No one seems to know! I'm still shocked that in London (of all places), they didn't know...
They were on the menu, I didn't know enough Italian to try and explain anything off-menu, but as soon as I saw them, I remembered your post and figured, Why not!?
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