Southern Italians are know for being laid back folk. No rushing allowed. Don't sweat the small stuff, that kind of thing. And even though they do gesticulate wildly and become almost aggressive when they feel that you haven't eaten enough (regardless of the fact that you have consumed 5 courses), this assumption of their relaxed attitude is usually accurate.
I like to think that, after having been here for almost three years, my patience levels have increased. However, I am still prone to small outbursts, very much like the one that occurred today. You see, my washing machine has been on the blink for a while. The other day my man attempted to fix it and, after tinkering about a bit, it seemed to have worked. I put a wash on and, hey presto, clean clothes! So today, when I confidently put a big bundle of stuff into the machine, pressed START, and waited for forty minutes or so, you can imagine my frustration when said big bundle hadn't been washed properly.
So my man came round to investigate (sorry feminists). What he found upon his arrival, was a grumpy British woman chucking half wet half dry socks about the place.
'It's broken again! I don't know what to do! I thought we (ha! we!) had managed to fix it!'
'Amy..it's alright..try and stay calm!'
'NO. I SHALL NOT. ALL I WANT IS TO WASH MY (BEEP)ING PANTS WITHOUT ANY DIFFICULTIES!'
'......'
And there you have it. Man vs. woman. Italian vs. English. Me vs. my washing machine. Sometimes patience needs to be lost, just as long as you manage to find it again. You'll feel miles better. Try not to get your pants caught up in the crossfire though...
I like to think that, after having been here for almost three years, my patience levels have increased. However, I am still prone to small outbursts, very much like the one that occurred today. You see, my washing machine has been on the blink for a while. The other day my man attempted to fix it and, after tinkering about a bit, it seemed to have worked. I put a wash on and, hey presto, clean clothes! So today, when I confidently put a big bundle of stuff into the machine, pressed START, and waited for forty minutes or so, you can imagine my frustration when said big bundle hadn't been washed properly.
So my man came round to investigate (sorry feminists). What he found upon his arrival, was a grumpy British woman chucking half wet half dry socks about the place.
'It's broken again! I don't know what to do! I thought we (ha! we!) had managed to fix it!'
'Amy..it's alright..try and stay calm!'
'NO. I SHALL NOT. ALL I WANT IS TO WASH MY (BEEP)ING PANTS WITHOUT ANY DIFFICULTIES!'
'......'
And there you have it. Man vs. woman. Italian vs. English. Me vs. my washing machine. Sometimes patience needs to be lost, just as long as you manage to find it again. You'll feel miles better. Try not to get your pants caught up in the crossfire though...
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