How did it get to be three days?

From a seemingly uncountable number of days, we are now down to three in Venice.
I want only to absorb, pull in, experience, experience, experience. Today, we will go to Ca' Pesaro, a modern art museum, and at least one other cultural site, and then a pizza place Bonnie showed me last night that seemed most intriguing.
We found a new campo. Well, she found it. It's off the St. Stae vaporetto stop. She calls it Our Lady of the Eternal Chic Restaurants or something like that. It's exactly where my folding Italy Auto Club map is centered and torn. But we had not been there together.
We went to experience Osteria la Zuccha (the "pumpkin" restaurant, San Croce 1762 on San Giocomo dell ' Orio) a semi-vegetarian spot that has been highly praised in the media and for which reservations are a must.
Oh, thank God: Rice instead of pasta (okay, it was long-grain jasmine and not short-grain white but it was the first rice we'd had in a long time). A savory and rich pumpkin flan as a first course, so delicious I recommended it to the next party; I was moaning, actually. Rabbit in a kind of marengo (tomato, vegetable) sauce. A rabbit warren of small rooms paneled in strips of wood with views of a canal. We skipped dessert.
One campo after another, each more charming that the last, full of Italians. Find this place!
I must, I'm sorry, but no one's listening so why not indulge myself?, speak about the Long Night of the Italian Table.
Again.
What is it that Italian serving staff have against bringing THE (here insert preferred profanity) CHECK???? When I'm done, I'm done. I wanna go. I wanna give you my money and get the heck outta Dodge or Canareggio or wherever. Did you get the 'give you my money' part?? Moses, let my people go!!!
Even AFTER you ask for "il conto" (the bill) — and it takes a miracle from God to catch a waiter's eye to do that much — an eternity goes by. Michaelangelo paints the Sistine Chapel. Tintoretto does half a dozen commissioned portraits. Popes come and go. And then the bill appears. And then there's a negotiation about whether they take credit cards ("Carta?"), whether you can take your leftovers home ("?????") and then you dither about the tip because, by then, what I want to do is rise like Prometheus, burst my chains and run from the place.

And this is with restaurants I like.

I will never again kvetch when Sally "drops the check" early at a diner. I will pay it with a smile.

Next year in Alohaland.