I had only known Karen for three weeks when I extended the invitation. "I know these family things can be a little weird," I told her, "but my folks are great, and we always have a lot of fun on Christmas Eve."So begins the beloved Christmas story I repost year after year in my annual Holiday Chestnuts collection for your enjoyment, ...more...
"Sounds fine to me," Karen said.
I had only known my mother for 31 years when I told her I'd be brining Karen with me. "She's a very nice girl and she's really looking forward to meeting all of you." "Sounds fine to me," my mother said.
And that was that. Two telephone calls. Two sounds-fine-to-me's. What more could I want?
I should point out, I suppose, that in Italian households, Christmas Eve is the social event of the season- an Italian women's raison d'être. She cleans. She cooks. She bakes. She orchestrates every minute of the entire evening. Christmas Eve is what Italian women live for.
I should also point out, I suppose, that when it comes to the kind of women that make Italian men go nuts, Karen is it. She doesn't clean. She doesn't cook. She doesn't bake. And she has the largest breasts I have ever seen on a human being.
I brought her anyway.
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