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Honestly, I have not been too fond of Enrique Iglesias ever since he got rid of his facial mole, but if Enrique were to apologize to me about the mole removal, we would most definitely hit up Italy. I’m not going to lie, I may or may not have had a crush on Enrique when I was little (it’s not my fault, my Mom played a lot of his music around the house on the weekends), so if I were to go anywhere, it’d probably be the country where I could live out the film, Roman Holiday, with Enrique. Granted, I’m no Audrey Hepburn, and he is certainly no Gregory Peck (the thought is completely and utterly laughable), but I know that he and I would make the most of it. We would probably tour Rome, Vespa style, see the coliseum up close, take a tour of Vatican City (technically it’s its own country, but let’s pretend it’s Italy for now), and have tea with the Pope. After our trip through Rome, we would probably eat at a small Italian restaurant that serves the best spaghetti in town, and reminisce over how awesome we are because a) I don’t doubt my awesomeness for one minute and b) Enrique has always been awesome (even after his bout with stupidity with the mole incident). For some reason after our dinner, I would really like to gamble with Enrique, so we’d probably take a private jet to Monte Carlo and spend his money at the poker table or at the black jack table (my dream has always been to count cards, so maybe by this time, I would’ve already learned how). I don’t know about you, but this vacation with Enrique is looking mighty splendid, so let’s hope that by the time this happens, Enrique has made money off of a one hit wonder like (Baby) I Like It, otherwise we are skipping Monte Carlo.
