After four years in Italy I still can’t get used to the “Italian ways of family”. I guess you can take the girl out of the country but you can’t take the country out of the girl. My Canadian upbringing is ingrained in me and although I admire the closeness of Italian families I think that if my mom called me 3-4 times a day I would lose my mind!
Mama has found me an apartment. Well, I should say Mama, and Zio and Lord knows who else was involved in this scheme. I was set-up with an appointment to meet with an agent who also happens to be a close friend of a cousin. Is everyone in this country related?
The apartment is actually quite nice although ironically only minutes from Mama’s house. Originally I had hoped to find something in a small neighbouring village but after searching endlessly it has become quite apparent that the commute to work would be long and difficult. So, for now I must compromise.
But the deal is not final yet. There is still the meeting with the owner. This is to take place next week and apparently this guy is a hard ass. Not only have I been told not to wear my torn jeans but also no high heels or too much make-up etc. to the meeting!
I’ve known my Italian family now for six and a half years and am stunned at this advice. I NEVER wear high heels or much make-up and although my jeans have fashionable tears in them I would like to think by now they know I still have some common sense.
I swear to God, keeping one’s sanity in this backwards country is truly an art form.