Several years ago, Diesel and I spent two weeks in Rome. Even though it was October, it was surprisingly sultry. Anyone that knows Diesel knows that the man runs hot. Not just that, but he literally radiates heat when he gets too toasty. As a result, he rarely wears more than a t-shirt and shorts unless he has to. And for our visit to Vatican City and St. Pauls Basilica, I insisted that he wear pants.
After all, the Vatican has a strict dress code that specifies no skirts above the knee, no bare shoulders, no shorts and no bare feet. The last thing I wanted to do after waiting in the massively long line was to return to our rented apartment for him to change. Grudgingly, and with no small amount of grumbling, he acquiesced and we headed off to Vatican City.
And that was where I got into trouble.
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| A Swiss Guard in Vatican City. |
