How to Fight Like an Italian

She used to terrify me.

Back in Rome (2005) this woman was my boss and I thought she was crazy.

Every morning I woke up to her upset in the kitchen.

I lived in a small adjoining room because I was her kids’ nanny.

When I decided to quit we had a blowout.

A blend of Italian and English issued from both of our mouths, tears were flying and moments later, I was texting friends looking for a new place to stay.

Later that night when I came home to collect my things, she had bought me fagiolini (Italian green beans); my favorite.

Everything for dinner that night was my favorite…pesto sauce, shaved beef… it was her way of building a bridge.
What I discovered is that Italians fight, but the best fights are reserved for those you love.

So here we are ten years later on the back of her scooter.  And I am happy to report that she’s no longer upset and I am no longer terrified.

Do you think fights can be a sign of love or is that totally bananas?