“I need a job for a woman. Un lavoro per una donna,” this earnest, bright-eyed 19-year-old said to me.
I don't enjoy cooking but I do like homemade Italian food and interesting dinner companions.
“Take off your underwear,” the doctor instructed. Right now? In this moment? Here? Can I get a gown or glass of wine first?
“I’m very sorry,” my teacher Sara replies when I share that I’m married to an Italian.
The gurgle of an air conditioner dying is a most terrible sound.
After all we've done for you, you ungrateful son-of-a-me.
“But it’s good for your cholesterol!” she protested before going on the stoop to smoke.
Despite my best efforts to avoid a fight on the first day of school, I have to flee a brawl.
My husband has many talents (e.g. making risotto, doing mental math, assembling IKEA furniture), but teaching me his native tongue is not one of them.
“What I did today and yesterday is not arrogant, it’s just proactive,” Renzo explains.