So I’m out laying in a pan of extra virgin olive oil with the Giorgini twins watching the sun go round. It’s a pretty good size pan, about twelve by fourteen. The kind used to bake four and twenty four hundred blackbirds in a pie, that kind of pan. So all at once the twins pop up, both of them, they chirp up and say, and point, they were pointing, “Look. Is zata you wife?”
Now it really wasn’t quite like that cause they were speaking Italian and I just wanted to give them that accent to get you into the pan so to speak, to give you an idea of what it was like in there, out there. It was all out there. There was no in, out there. Out there in the pan.
My wife? I looked. Indeed. Holy shit, they were right, two hundred percent, a hundred percent for each of them. Sure enough there is M. wearing black, dressed like Mary Poppins in that British movie with Dick Van Dyke and riding a bicycle towards us and she’s about three feet. . . about a foot off the ground.
That’s when I remember she is coming into Fiumicino Airport in a couple of hours so I had to leave the Giorgini twins to their studies and I had to wake up and get over there to pick her up. Well, not pick her up. I wasn’t going to pick her up, I was going to meet her at the airport and bring her, lead her home. You know what people are like who have been flying all night – they’re like zombies.