ALL RIGHT: I’VE given you all the details you asked for—flight number, time, the address where I stayed in Rome. I’ve shown you the Expedia flight confirmation, the Airbnb receipt, the receipt for the euros I took out at currency exchange, even the picture of the New York City skyline I took from my plane seat. But I’m serious: this trip happened because of gelato. It came together at the last minute, at JFK, and the sole reason I decided on Rome is because I happened upon the sweetest form of ice cream. There were no terrorists. No friends. Just ice cream.