When I moved to Italy and decided to live the life of an American expat I really didn’t see things going down like this. Alas, here we are! Francesco’s friend from the European Institute soccer team, came over today during lunch to fix our washing machine. (Thank you! You are awesome! So sorry about my dog, I’ll pay for therapy).
In order to fix the machine, first he had to remove the giant mountain of random shit that sat cluttered on top, which included toys that Francesco had banished to the laundry room because of Oliver’s little problem. As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough. Nothing screams, “our life is slightly out of control” like a six meter high mountain of crap on a laundry machine. My hallway now looks like the aftermath of a hurricane or tornado. I was too busy sorting through the mess to keep an eye on Oliver and keep him away from his banished friends.
The washing machine was fixed in less than fifteen minutes. I made espresso for us which is kind of standard here. Anytime someone enters your home you immediately offer coffee, or some form of alcohol. We were chatting a little and drinking our coffee when we were interrupted by a sound that i know all too well. I turned slowly to see Oliver on his bed enthusiastically humping Mr. Bear. “Oh! He’s playing with his…wait, Is he…?” F’s friend trailed off. Then I gave him too much information because that’s what happens when I’m uncomfortable, “Uh, yeah. He does that all day like everyday. That’s why those toys were in the laundry room. F had to take them away because, well, you can see. That one is his favorite. Well, that one and the pig. And. Uhm. Yeah.” He looked down at his hand which he’d used to remove the toys from the washing machine. We both turned our backs to Oliver and tried to continue talking about how silent is Campo Di Marte with “Heh, Heh, Heh, Heh, Heh, THMP, THMP, THMP” in the background.