For Christmas, eating is the new form of torture. Forget about Abu Ghraib, spend the next three days with the Galatioto's. Not only does your stomach get overloaded with food, but the noise level and interrupting that happens is torturous. Among four people, seven conversations can be happening. Don't try to do the math or understand any of it. Marcy was trying to tell a story today during Christmas dinner, which started at 2pm this afternoon. Less than 24 hours before, we were shoveling tons of food in at my place for Christmas Eve. While she was making an earnest attempt to tell us a nice story about my Nonno, Rocco started complaining that its the first Christmas we aren't eating pasta! Not like we didn't have two vats of pasta last night. Marcy finally said, "Maybe I'll finish this story by next year." Don't count on it, Mom.
Among the crazy talk and food, there are always a lot of zingers. Last night, Nonna made real cassatelle and pignulata (honey balls) and Julie made the malafigura of bringing pignulata. Come on Jules, Nonna has got the honey balls covered. So Julie tried a ball and wins for the most demented line of the evening, "Jen, I tried your Nonna's balls, they were pretty good." Julie, this is why you are a welcomed member of this lunatic clan.