The first few years of dating my now Husband there were a lot of crazy moments. Anyone dreaming of meeting their own Italian stallion do not be fooled by what you are taking on.
There may be some calm, tame, emotionally balanced Italian men out there. (I think I've met two so far), but not many.
If you meet in the UK and your partner speaks English, it's tempting to think that because you understand the same language you will be fine.
This does not mean you will understand everything you say to each other. Sometimes you will think you understand each other only to realise later that actually you both had a completely different understanding of the same thing...
Our first date for example. We agreed to meet at 6pm at London Bridge tube station. So I got ready and off I went. I was running a bit late so texted him to say so. Unbeknown to me this sent him into a state of panic. (He had not yet put on his favourite cardigan - fact!) But the real panic - I was on my way.
You see for Italians, arrangements, especially meeting with people is actually a very fluid thing. Meeting at 6pm to Mr Prada actually meant that around 6ish/6.30pm he would call me to arrange what time we would meet later on, say around 8pm, and then he would probably be a bit late for that as well!
After he told his English housemate, he got a bit of scolding. Because in England if you're meeting at 6pm, that's when you're meeting. Why faff around calling and arranging to meet again at another time. If you do that by then she just won't turn up. Or she will have met someone else who was there at 6pm.
Italians love talking, faffing and eating...
Italians, as you will learn love a bit of faffing... mainly because it gives them something to talk about. Talking is their favourite pastime... apart from eating. Put these alotogther and you'll see how not much gets done and you put on a lot of weight!
I didn’t realise how all encompassing this passion for food was until about 6 months into our relationship…
We moved in together very quickly, it felt a bit of a waste of time going between each others homes, so naively, all 'In love', we were under one roof after two months. It was a bit bumpy sometimes, I packed my suitcase to leave A LOT, but one day when all seemed to be going well I was very alarmed to come home and find Mr Prada lying on the floor in front of an open fridge not moving.
That instinctive sense of panic you have when something is wrong rose in my chest and I ran the length of the flat to get to him as fast as I could. When I got nearer I realised he was moaning. I dropped to my knees and asked, "What's happened?! What's happened?".
Wait for it....
"We've run out of parsley!" He shouted.
I don't think I have ever been so dumbfounded. "Sorry? What did you say?".
"We've run out of parsley!" At this point I got up off the floor.
"Is there anything wrong with you or are you honestly telling me that you are lying on the floor because there's no parsley?!!!!" I was a bit pissed off at this point as you can imagine.
But that was his honest answer. He wanted to make spaghetti alle vongole, which apparently can not be done without parsley. He had been dreaming about this pasta all day long. (Clearly working hard)
Now he had come home to find there wasn't any parsley which meant he couldn't cook it as it, "Wouldn't be the same".
I asked what he planned to do now instead, as in what else would he cook?
His response: "I'm going to die like a whale on the shore!"
Honestly, the drama! Sometimes dating any man, but especially an Italian man takes a lot of energy…
But they do cook... Swings and roundabouts