It's more than just eating pasta almost every night and pizza on the weekends. And let's not forget the daily loaf of bread with cheese.
It's more than just talking with your hands, or wanting to articulate a point so much that your voice is increasingly raised to the extent where you are now yelling quite loudly. And possibly spitting a little in the other person's face as you talk.
It's more than just visiting your parents measly hometown in Italy with a population of 2000 for a month or two in the summer when there are much larger and more popular cities that can be explored. Hi Rome! What a gwan Capri?
It's more than just playing Nintendo's Mario Brothers because you connect so well with Mario and Luigi on a personal level... and laugh at how short Mario is because let's face it, it's not a stretch in real life.
It's more than just declaring war with family members and acting as though they don't exist for YEARS and then reconciling and expecting to now hang out and forge a connection with your cousins who up until now has been taught to hate you and vice versa.
It's more than having such a large extended family that you find yourself continously saying "nice to meet you" to people you've already met.
It's more than just sharing your name with like 20 other people since all the first females born into a family had to be named after nonna (grandma).
It's more than just being chased around the house, dodging thrown shoes and getting your ass whooped by a wooden spoon (or any other kitchen utensil your mom can get her hands on).
It's more than being taught that as a female, you are NOTHING if you do not know how to spit-shine the house clean and make a meal that will give your husband no choice but to quadruple in size with every anniversary that you celebrate.
It's knowing that if I decide to date an Italian guy, then I've got my fair share of pickings. Spiky hair, orange hue and tight revealing shirts. Pouty mouth, sultry stare and an inability to smile for the camera. What more could a girl ask for?
(What a lucky, lucky girl. And that man cleavage is totally hot. I'd run an ice cube down that shit for sure.)
(That superman belt makes me want to push him into the nearest phone booth and have him make an example out of me. And that cum stain or sweat stain or tomato sauce stain above his pants? Yum.)
(Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! It's the Gotti brothers! And those pouty lips just make me want to rip them right off with my teeth and feed it to their pet dog, who I'm sure is named Rocky.)
(That? Is just fuckin scary. From the little facial expressions that you can make out from them -- the orange kind of gets in the way -- they look like they are going to kill their dates. Hey guys? You see those girls sitting on your laps? See the colour of their skin? THAT is what normal is. That orange shit you've got going on ... hell no.)
(I'm too sexy for this shirt ... to sexy for this shirt, so sexy it hurts!)
