I finally did the road trip to Portofino with Coco. She had been to the house upstairs before and had a blast terrorizing one poor, hapless, lizard for three days. Unfortunately, the only thing I’ve spotted in the new place are gross spiders. Hardly a challenge for a 5 kilo kitty.
I was hoping she would settle in easily like she did at all the other places I’d brought her to but no such luck. Seems she is also a bit miffed that we are now regaled to the gallows of the greedy Aunt’s half of the house. The panting and weird howls ensued for about an hour before I finally got her to settle down.
Having her up here is like having a 3 year-old in the house. She has already escaped from Alcatraz once through the kitchen window while I was busy trying to “child proof it” then there’s the story of Fatcat. He is one of three of the farmer’s cats who refused to be caught and taken away. Of course he knows me as the gravy train so I gave him one of Coco’s treats and some water and dry food which he gobbled up. He used to be so fat which is how he came by his name but now Coco outweighs him and has rightfully earned her nickname Fatass.
I am now sharing the house and renovation frenzy with my sister-in-law and her boyfriend. He came up yesterday afternoon and gave Tim the toolman Taylor a run for his money. This guy has every noisy machine in all of Europe (power washer, 2 electric sanders, drills, etc. etc.). The last straw for me was when he got out his leaf blower…that was the exact moment I started rummaging through the cupboards for some wine.
The bf is really nice but he is like a 15 year old in a fat, 50 something year old body. This morning I had the pleasure of seeing him prance around in his black speedo underwear. Not a sight I would like to repeat any time soon. Is that an Italian thing? I mean honestly, I wouldn’t dream of parading around in my undies in front of my brother-in-law EVER! And if my husband decided to wander around in his tighty whities while my sister was visiting I would quickly set him straight.
So what’s your take? Is this a cultural thing or am I just a prude? Or…am I married into the weirdest family in Italy? Oh, and did I mention how much I really hate leaf blowers? Get a broom out and give me some peace and quiet dude. I’d help you but I have a blister the size of Manhattan on my thumb from manually pruning the hedge yesterday. Don’t know why I bothered after I watched him hack the hedge to mulch with the weed wacker because he desperately wanted to see the sea from the terrace. And, to top things off I have a mysterious rash on my hands and face…I look pretty scary and my husband may want to take a U-turn back to the ship when he sees me 😦
This is going to be a long summer…