Beware of Italians bearing gifts

Franco the barber keeps on giving me lamplight pens. I am not sure if it is because (a) he knows of my writing aspirations or (b) he just thinks I am very lost and in need of some light. Today he ambushed me outside the village delicatessen - Cose Ti Piace - around dusk. He shone the pen at me and said "Joanna, sei illuminata." Then he insisted I take the pen before puckering up for a kiss. I really prefer to save the lips for people I am in love with ( or at least mildly like) so I went for each cheek instead. He then turned to the man working in the deli and gave him the thumbs up. I suspect their are wagers afoot in this little hamlet that I know nothing about.