My roommate during my first semester at college was Italian -- her parents were first generation immigrants. She was an amazing cook, but she liked to store her garlic in our shared closet. I pretty much smelled like I was wearing "Eau de Garlic" perfume for that entire semester.
In America especially in Chicago, dealing with the Italians or the Irish, it is kind of a tippy-toe situation. So many of them are 'involved'. You never know what you are getting into.
I was dating an Irish girl in Chicago, who introduced me to her family, they were all Union Representatives. She took me to a bar full of armed Italian guys and they all knew her by name. I knew they were armed because I could see their freakin guns. They were not making a secret of it. It was at that point that it slowly dawned on me that this may not actually be completely normal.
I was sitting at the bar talking to some random guy. He was talking about a grocery store that he wanted. I could see the Glock poking out of his jacket. My girl, she was obsessed with pork chops. Apparently the owner of the place prides himself by his world famous pork chops, the best ever. She ordered it for me.
These pork chops were like an inch and a half thick, cooked to perfection...I guess. I don't know. I paid the bill and gave the chops to my girl. It was cold. It was getting colder. I told her I was going to the bathroom.
Once I got to my car, the heat was full blast. I got the hell out of there and never saw her again. Yea, I know. She did. She wanted to marry me and have children. It was written all over her. But, a chick like that, there is no 'divorce'. If it didn't work out for any reason, you would never find the body. I wasn't ready for that. You could say that I wimped out. And maybe I did. But I lived long enough to say so.
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