The first family member I had the pleasure to meet was his ‘Nonna’ and the cute, little old lady had a mouth like a sailor. I’d ducked into the back seat as soon as we picked her up and she kept up a bilingual stream of profanity that could peel the paint off a barn. “Bafangu chooch, you old goat!” She cussed at the farmer driving his tractor in the middle of the road. I had no idea what a chooch was, but the arm gestures that accompanied her words gave me the general idea.
By the time we pulled into the driveway, Lorenzo announcing, “We’re here.” I felt fond of the older woman and her sass.
The rainbow-colored swath of blooms had me exclaim, “Oh goodness, does your wife grow dahlias?” He said it was his house, and my extremely limited experience with men made me believe his attention so
