Home stories Living In Italy Sometimes People Yell At Me or This Guy Won’t Marry Me

Living In Italy Sometimes People Yell At Me or This Guy Won’t Marry Me

written by M.E. Evans March 13, 2014

Hey yankee, if MY wife would have written all this crap about MY country, I’d have divorced for sure.
No idea how your italian husband agrees on this crap. Tante belle minchiate che hai scritto.


Dear person who would divorce me and also probably wouldn’t marry me.

I’m struggling to come to terms with the fact that you would divorce me in spite of the fact that we would clearly have a badass relationship, what with your great sense of humor and all. Wait, that’s not you. I had you confused with my husband who is rad and doesn’t invest a ton in nationalism because last time Italy did that it nearly blew itself up. And Mussolini was all, “Darwin and shit,” and flames swirled around him and evolution was his bitch.

So, my point is that It’s probably a good thing that you didn’t marry M.E. Or a writer as hilarious as I think I am because divorce is frowned upon in Italy. I mean, it’s been legal for a few decades but people still gossip and get all judgy and stabby. Did you know that honor killings were legal in Italy until the 70’s? True story. So I’m basically saving your life by writing this blog. You can thank me later, no rush.
Now that I think about it, If we were ever married my shitty sense of humor would get you kicked out of church and I’d probably get stoned. Not the good kind of stoned that involves potato chips, brownies, and watching The Last Unicorn but the bad kind that happens when women get all liberal and whacky and start freely using words like vagina and burning bras and shit. So, really this blog is saving both of our lives because that’s what words and ideas do. Unless you put them on a building, then they just cost you jail time.

Back to my husband. He thinks I’m funny sometimes. This blog is about my perceptions in a place just like my other blog is about life and observations in ‘merrrrca. But, ya know, How dare he allow me to publicize my thoughts, have this blog, read, vote, or leave the house without a family member? It’s like he’s asking for you to yell at him. It’s not really his fault though. I blame my vagina. She can be pretty persuasive and according to a certain religious book she is also corruptive. Sometimes I’ll just be walking around thinking of how much I like flowers and princesses when BAM evil thoughts get practically sucked up inside my lady bits poisoning my mind. It’s like osmosis. But it’s Vagmosis. My vagina needs to be kept in line. If I were you I’d divorce me (us) too.

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