(JDR) A night out for Western food seemed in store after a few long days of moving and adjusting to a new district in the busy Ho Chi Minh City. There were four of us who moved from the Go Vap district (after a quick holiday to Phu Quoc island – a story to tell at a later time) to a place closer to where we’d all prefer to live and work. We were pursuing jobs – teaching positions. There were two English peeps, one South African and me, the lone American. District 2 is known for expat living so it was expected to have some food establishments that catered to their home tastes.
I often walk around my new surroundings in an attempt to gain an understanding of my new environment. I meandered past an “Real Italian Pizza” restaurant. I stopped, spoke to the manager who was obviously Italian, but also spoke English and Vietnamese. I figured this would be a good place for me and the crew to visit for some good pizza when the craving struck.
Fast forward two days. “Pizza anyone?” How about, “Pizza everyone!” We made our way to the pizza restaurant – a short five minute walk from our AirBnb (a high rise condo). Even for lactose intolerant folks as myself, a good Italian pizza pie could not be denied.
We arrived. We were seated behind the pool table at a bar that wasn’t really a bar. The four of us perused the menu while I was given the power to choose the music for the restaurant (The Weeknd was played). There was a gal behind this “bar” sitting on a chair/couch made for stretching out and relaxing. She was wearing a leopard print dress. And when I say dress, I mean just that…just a dress. I also noticed a bump in the dress as if a lil baby was wearing the exact same dress within her stomach. One more glance towards that area revealed that she wasn’t wearing anything but the dress (are you getting the drift?! She wasn’t wearing panties!). I immediately asked my flatmate and friend Hannah to switch seats with me so I could enjoy my pepperoni pizza without distraction and fear of instant water breakage.
A few kisses later, lady drinks, and some late night texts that amounted to “I’m consummated”, I retreated to passing out alone once again. One would think that I should be struck with great shame, but I, can’t help but think that there was something about that bare naked vagina that added flavor to the pizza that evening and for that, I’m forever thankful for “sexy pizza.”
(BT) Once we settled into our new place in District 2, we decided to go out for dinner. One place that had caught our eyes was a pizza restaurant, a mere 2 minute walk away from us. So that night we went there. I’d already made some plans to meet up with someone, so I decided to go there for some food and a drink.
We got to the place, and were greeted by an Italian man, who Jonathan had earlier met. There we ordered some pizzas and several bottles of wine. The pizza really was actually quite decent, far better than the swill that is dominoes here, and the wine went well with the meal. All this time, a woman was lying behind the counter watching us, much like a cat watches a mouse before pouncing on it. For as long as I was there, she said nothing. She was quiet, but her legs seemed a tad inappropriately spread for us to see all the glory that was her underwear free vagina.
Eventually, the time came for me to go. I bid the others farewell and proceeded to exit the restaurant. Before that could happen, I bumped into the Italian owner. I thanked him for a good meal, and we shook hands. He asked if I lived in the area, to which I said that I did. He went on a little tangent that if the memory remembers correctly went along like this: “It’s great that you enjoyed the meal. But next time you’re here, we could have a few bottles of wine, get some girls, and we could have a sexy time. You like that idea?” Rather surprised I nodded my head and then met my uber driver.
During the drive, I couldn’t help but think that that man tried to pimp some possibly pregnant woman out to me. That’s never happened before, and it was a bit odd to say the least. It wasn’t until the next day when we had reconvened that we were able to discuss what ended up happening that night. Apparently the others ended up getting more drunk, with one of them (a man-child whose name is derived from Yahweh has given) making out with her.
Sooner or later we coined the term “sexy pizza” for the restaurant, a place we never went to again, out of fear of having a sexy time. To this day “sexy pizza” is always good fodder for a laugh amongst us idiots.