My husband is from Italy. He’s actually from Naples, and I know that makes a difference to most Italians, especially the Milan population. When I go to Italy, I get to see the interiors of two, maybe three apartments and the view from those balconies. It’s irritating, but that’s what happens. I’ve dreamed of Venice since I was little. I have always wanted to go there, at least once. Rome? Are you kidding me? The subtle star of my favorite Fellini movies? Oh yes please. One day. Florence – where art was pretty much born and nurtured? Yeah, never been there either. Not even Capri or Sicily. Next time we go, maybe I’ll just go “missing” and actually see some of the country!
Just down the street from his mom’s apartment is the official Team Napoli shop. To me, that was amazingly cool. I was the hip American who knew to call the sport football rather than SocKerrrrrrrrrrrr. I could watch Beckham bend anything he likes and grew up loving Pele. My husband was not interested in going into the shop. He did not want to buy a jersey/shirt or a ball. I finally convinced him to and it was a whole lot of fun and where we got many souvenirs for our friends and coworkers.
There has been minimal interest in football from him. Until Alessandro and Nello arrived for a visit! All of a sudden, he became kind of Italian again in the presence of his two friends, and they watched football and had a blast. Now that they’re back in Spain and the UK respectively, my husband has become a junky. His addiction is PlayStation 3 FIFA 13. It’s clearly like crack to him, and he plays it, yells all kinds of bizarre Napolitan curses, tells his players to dance and other basically crazy shit.