Why do Italians feel so compelled to evaluate other people’s lives, happiness and lifestyle? Do they think it’s their mission in the world to set everybody straight?
The other day Mama decided quite on her own that I wasn’t happy. So, let me see, I’d just left Canada and was re-adjusting to being back in Italy, I had a sick cat and had wiped out my savings with vet visits and my landlord asked me for €1,000 to pay for over usage of hot water because he underestimated the bill. Did I really have anything to be happy about?
Would this be much different if I was living somewhere else? The answer is simply, no. Life has its ups and downs no matter where you live. Do I sometimes wonder how things would be if I still lived in Canada, sure. Don’t most expats?
Today I went for a massage. I’ve been experiencing some serious back pain which I equate to carrying heavy books on the bus several times a week and probably stress too. The massage guy loves to talk! I don’t care because he is near my home and he is cheap. But every time I see him he lectures me about why my back is in bad shape. Not for the reasons I mentioned above, oh no, that would be too easy. He thinks I’m sad because I’m alone too much!
Now, I will be the first to tell you that I miss my husband sometimes, and I miss having someone around to do stuff with, but it doesn’t make me sad, just lazy, lol. And this guy telling me this just makes me mad. I mean really, who made him the authority on what makes me happy?
I’ll admit, his rattling made me wonder a bit about my quality of life here. To be honest, it’s not all that it’s cracked up to be. But I’m also older now and have slowed down my lifestyle. I’m quite content to hang out with Coco on Saturday night while playing Candy Crush on my iPad. And if I was in Canada I would be at my sister’s house playing Candy Crush 🙂
I save my money and energy for bigger things now. The things that matter to me, not Joe public massage guy. Last night I passed up an invitation to hang out with some friends at a disco. In some ways I thought come on Leah, get your lazy ass off the couch and go, but I really didn’t want to. The idea of driving one hour to stand in a loud, crowded bar just didn’t appeal to me.
But here’s the clincher. My massage guy started talking about fish and how to prepare it then offered to cook lunch for me and show me! Hmmmm, now I’m starting to see into his strategy. make the girl feel lonely and then ooze your way into her good graces with good Italian food and then, well every fox knows what happens to the naïve hen, right?
So I’m just wondering if anyone knows of a mute massage therapist in Genoa? Maybe I should just go back to pretending that I don’t understand Italian. 🙂
Oh, and as far as Mama goes…she makes shit up all the time about people because she’s bored. I know way too much about certain people and probably half of it is exaggerated and the other half not true. I am sure she has told all her cronies that her “American daughter in law drinks too much and stays out all night at strange discos.” Because the real me is just not entertaining enough for the local coffee shop gossip.