Ode to International Men

From now on everyday I will write an ode to specific international men. The criteria to be featured in this part of the blog? Not much that is if you ask a smart woman. A Greek's set in stone jaw, a Roman's chiseled calves, and a Brit's sophisticated air. Gosh, if only we could combine all of them into one and make the perfect male. Since that isn't happening any time soon, due to the bans on cloning and what not, let's learn to be happy with what we have and appreciate our international men.



Today's ode goes out to the Italians. The caramel complex, the sexy windblown hair, tighted fitted jeans, the hard thighs that hide beneath the denim and that gorgous smile. I'm hard pressed not to be bias in this category. How can one not fall head over heals for an Italian at every glance?




The best quality of an Italian man? His passion and his love. Stereotyped as it may sound, it's world reknown that your Italian man will love you back twice as more. He'll give back not only with what's in his pants, he'll use his head and get sensitive and be caring. This seems to be lost on many women these days. They feel gone are the days of the quintessential Italian. I, however, beg to differ. I just can't get enough his Italian ways.



They can talk you out of your pants, out of your shirt and into their apartment in about five seconds flat. They'll dress better than you do on your finest night and their self-confidence is freakishly appealing.



Not to mention, the Italian football team. Anyone woman in thier right wouldn't mind being roughed up by these men. God-like? Off course. With those thighs and those calves it's hard to not make comparsions. Take me now, oh please, take me now.



So girls, make your trip out to Italy and have your pizza and pasta, just make sure you don't fall too hard for these fine, fine epitomes of awesome.


Fabio Cannavaro? Definately enough said.