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Mozzarella Heels

Shortly after I started officially dating the Italian, he went off to Italy on holiday for his nieces christening.

He called me everyday which was, I admit, very impressive. You see, that’s the thing about foreign men, they don’t hold back. There’s none of this call you in three days rule, or only call before Wednesday if you want a date at the weekend. None of that! It was so refreshing to have a net a guy who put it straight, “I’a like’a you, I think’a you’a like’a me, so’a wanna hang’a outta with’a me or no?”.

And there you have it, day calls from his holiday. Sunning himself, eating pizza, drinking Spritzers and thinking if me – bliss.

One day I couldn’t quite believe my luck. The conversation went something like this:

*phone rings, incoming call from Venice*

Him: I’a was in’a the town’a today, you’a know, and I’a saw’a the’a gorgoose pair’a shoes on’a woman’a

Me: Really? You were looking at Women’s shoes. Interesting.

Him: Yeah, I was’a in’a the town’a for’a santhin (something) and’a I saw’a those shoes and’a thought’a I’a gona get’a you’a a gift’a’

Me: Well that would be very generous, thanks, sounds lovely.

How lucky?? I had met this guy, an Italian guy, who was in Italy shoe shopping for me!! Oh the excitement, I was going to get myself a nice little pair of Prada sling backs!

A few weeks later when he returned, we made arrangements to meet up. He arrived with a box and wearing the biggest smile. That was it, I was hooked, he had me at “shoes”!

He handed over the box and I slowly unwrapped the brown paper. Peeling back the first corner I spotted a P, my heart sank – he had really bought me a pair of Prada shoes!!

I peeled back a bit more to reveal an A. Ok, odd. Slightly confused. Not Prada. I looked again, definitely not an R, it was most certainly an A. The Italian looked on with brown puppy dog eyes willing me to hurry up and open it.

I ripped back the paper to reveal a word: PALSE. To me this meant nothing. To him it meant the world. He practically jumped up and down on the spot with excitement, salivating.

Its’a from’a my’a Nonna’s village!!!!” he squeezed with delight.

“What is it?” I asked with a half cocked head

La Mozzarella!! Mozzarella Palse!! It’a was’a made’a this mornin’a..” he said waving his hands in a motion that suggested I should have known what the heck he was talking about.

Rewind. Let me digest this. Where’s the shoes?? The shoes that the stylish Italian woman in the town was wearing? The shoes that prompted you to want to buy me a gift?

Still in Italy, that’s where the shoes were. In their place, sat on my lap was a box containing four balls of mozzarella. Was I supposed to be thrilled at this concept? He wanted me to willing eat a cheese knowing that it had been the contents of a cow’s udder only hours before??

Seriously, I would have SO preferred the shoes!

This was the first of the Italian’s odd gift offerings. If you want to read how he almost blinded me with a christmas present, check out my post Amore Mio.

Red shoes, Prada

Red shoes, Prada (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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4 Comments

Posted by on May 31, 2012 in London

 

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A Road Much Travelled

I think we would agree that amongst other things (food, fashion, football and the generally good-lookingness of its population), Italy prides itself on having built roads, no? I believe so because I am reminded of it every time my husband and I get into a ‘my country/your country’ debate.

If it wasn’t for Italy..”, blah blah.. “if it wasn’t for the Romans…” yada yada yada…. YAWN! We have had many a debate about our home countries: mine being cold, his being hot, mine gave The Beatles, his gave Bocelli, they’ve got tagliatelle, we’ve got toad in the hole (does anyone under 100 eat toad in the whole in England?).  Now, I know this is slighty clutching at straws but they’ve got Prada, we’ve got Primark.  Totally validating this last point given the joy we ladies feel when purchasing a garment from either store!  As much as we would all love to be walking around in a Prada puffa jacket with over-sized fur-trimmed hood (usually real fur!), you can’t beat a seasonal splurge at Primark.

No matter what my comeback is, I am always hit with the road story.

What baffles me is if the Romans built all these roads for their troops to get around Europe, why don’t the Italians use them nowadays? This is clearly a huge generalisation but since I’ve been married to an Italian, I have noticed that travelling outside of Italy is not high on the list of priorities for most. Other than the mass exodus to Argentina and America in the 17th century, it seems that most Italians only use “their” roads in “their” country.  When I was travelling in South America, Asia, Australia and New Zealand, I don’t think I met a single Italian person (that was travelling).

A couple of years ago I mentioned to my brother-in-law that he had never visited us in London.  His response was “what would I eat?”.  He did visit, once.  He rather enjoyed himself. That was, until, he asked me if I like Italian food.  I do. But I prefer Indian/Mexican/Chinese, anything that’s not based on tomato or cream.  He asked me if I liked Italy in general. I do, from what I’ve seen so far. But in terms of “travelling”, I prefer Brazil/Colombia/Thailand, places where I can retell a story.  He hasn’t spoken to me since – that was 18 months ago.

According to Fanny Burney (I know, I’d have divorced my mother if she’d have dreamed up that name for me! God forbid if it were back to front!), “traveling is the ruin of all happiness! There’s no looking at a building after seeing Italy”.  This might have been true for the English novelist back in the 1700’s but hello, there is a world out there – go explore!

This extreme pride and inane belief in one’s nationality could be because Italy does have a lot going for it; beaches, mountains, lakes, food, wine, style, gorgeous looking people, a to-die-for accent and …ROADS.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on February 13, 2012 in Italia

 

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