“It’s me or the macaroni. You decide.”
A surprisingly serious ultimatum from my marito regarding a certain box of artificially flavored yellow yumminess.
It’s raining pears, Hallelujah, it’s raining pears.
That’s right. I’m not ashamed. I’m literally stealing the fruits of my suocera’s labor. But it’s ok, she would want me to. Remember, in Italy, food = love.
