I’m just back from a family reunion weekend, which included way more Italians than there should probably ever be in one place, and a ton of food, including eggplant parmesan, crescia, and sausage and peppers.
Things overheard at the gathering:
“Go get me some icebox cake. I’m too drunk to get up.”
“What? You put our family recipes on the INTERNET?” (drags finger menacingly across neck)
and graffiti in the bathroom:
Dora is my 90-year-old grandmother. It’s no big mystery who could be responsible for this. My dad. I’d know that handwriting anywhere.