When you intoxicatingly admire how well your manicure matches the color of your Italian wine, you might miss John Stamos sneaking by.


In Positano, I was doing just that. Tucked deep into the cliffside with a glass of red wine and mussels (to which a German tourist chided me were not in season) with my back to the world, my husband leaned across the table and whispered: “John Stamos just walked by.” I laughed, shrugged ‘you crazy,’ and continued intently comparing my wine with my nail polish. Then it happened again: John Stamos really was sneaking through the back alleys of Positano with his latest girlfriend. Jessie, I mean John, confirmed our musings with that quick (gorgeous) Full House-style smirk as I screamed, “Oh my god, that IS John Stamos.” Like a skittish deer not wanting to be captured or admired, he slipped seamlessly around the corner, lost on the tiny stone pathways. (Damn it!!) Later that night, I Instastalked Stamos to double ensure we had our man. Indeed we did.  In Under the Tuscan Sun fashion, I bolted to the balcony back at the hotel and called out, “John Stamos! John Stamos,” to no avail.  I saw John Stamos in Positano [circa 2015]. Teenage giggle.


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