Chapter 13 - A warning about italian women

A warning about italian women

Language level: lower-intermediate


Ascolta l'audio di questa storia


I love my Concettina.
She is the typical Italian woman from the South: passionate, beautiful and jealous. Very jealous.

Today I went into the bathroom and I saw her removing a long hair from my jacket with tweezers. She then turned on my computer and compared the hair with that of all of my female friends on Facebook.
 “Why don’t you send it to the FBI and have the DNA extracted?” I asked.

Other women...

According to Concettina, I haven’t got any female friends, only “zoccole” who want to be intimate with me.
 I wish this were true, but sadly, it isn’t.

The fact that I don’t give her any logical reason to be jealous changes nothing.
 At a party I spoke to a woman. It was a normal conversation, I THOUGHT.
 After the party Concettina was angry. I knew this because she answered every question with “Do what you want!”
 According to Concettina, the woman was trying to seduce me. “I am a woman, I know these things” she said.

At the office...

Where does this illogical insecurity come from? Recently I started to work with a new female colleague.
When I told Conci this, the first thing she asked was, “Is she beautiful?” 
Now, I had a dilemma here. The truth is that Samantha is beautiful. So, do I lie to Conci? Something I never want to do?
Or do I tell her the truth and sleep on the sofa for a week?
 “She’s really ugly, poor girl!” I said.

The next day, of course, Conci made a surprise visit to my office and saw Samantha: pandemonium!
 It’s easy to argue with an Italian woman because you’re not really involved. They don’t argue with you. They argue in front of you.
They ask and answer their own questions.
“So why didn’t you tell me she was beautiful? Because you’re a liar!” she said. “And how often have you lied to me? You lie to me. Always!” she concluded.

Just a minute...

“Listen,” I said, “I’m going into the kitchen to make a sandwich, you obviously don’t need me here. You can tell me who won when I come back!” 
Of course, Conci didn’t hear a word I had said.

“And how many other beautiful ‘friends’ have you not told me about? Hundreds!” she continued.
 “Conci, OK, I’ve been sleeping with three different women every day and two of them are having my baby,” I informed her.

“My mother was right, all men are the same!” she continued, still not listening. 
Then she started crying. I detest seeing her cry, but at least it gives me a chance to speak.
“Concettina” I said softly.
“What do I have to do to convince you that you are the only woman in the world  that I want?” She continued to cry.

At the end of the day...

I want to tell you something. I tolerate her jealousy because I know something.
 Jealousy is like an illness. There should be doctors treating it, people should receive flowers and support when they have jealousy.
There should be a terminal ward for people like my Conci.
 Other emotions like anger, happiness or sadness can be controlled, but not jealousy. It’s a terrible thing to have.

What you should know, my fellow Englishmen, is that every Italian girl will say the same thing to you on the first date. They all say, “No, I’m not jealous, really...” Yes, they are.
But it’s a small price to pay because Italian women are the best women in the world!


Glossary

tweezers - pinzette
do I lie...? - le dico una bugia?
ugly - brutta
it’s easy to argue - è facile litigare
are having my baby - aspettano un bambino da me
illness - malattia
there should be doctors treating it - dovrebbero curarla i medici
ward - corsia


<< Prec - Succ >>