Sì, lo so. Giuro, ne sono consapevole. La tavola di Pasqua non è il luogo ideale per affrontare discorsi sui grandi interrogativi che l'uomo, dalla notte dei tempi, pone a se stesso e/o ad una fantomatica Entità superiore. But at least grant me this, an attitude gotta give it to him. At least until the hectoliters of wine do not take full possession of all lymphatic vessel in your body. I nod. Well, someone agrees. So, I get an invitation to spend Easter in the countryside bunch of people (with some, although known for years, I barely exchange a nod and a wish for a peaceful holiday), confusion, and constant feeling of endless expectations underlying anxiety.
This time, I was not really possible decline, and then, armed with a smile, accompanied by a faithful dog, I make my entry in the rustic setting.
For some incomprehensible reason, perhaps traceable In studies by Darwin evolutionism, we always end up with disposing us to the second rigid board as elementary patterns: women on the one hand the boys the other.
Mindful of the same people you live with others, in a moment of prescience (or just a burst of self-preservation), I have the instinct to break this ancient and established custom and put my chair in the male ward. But something in my plan must have wavered, because someone might read in my eyes the blasphemous intent, takes me back to order with a chirpy "You sit next to me, right?". A guilty smile and a slight nod in that instant sign my sentence. Take your place alongside the adorable
finch che ha posto fine ai miei disegni eversivi ed il pranzo ha inizio.
Ora, solo la mia mente contorta e poco reattiva ha ben chiaro che in queste occasioni si mangia? Cioè, sono davvero l'unica che se viene invitata ad un pranzo si aspetta effettivamente di mangiare? In quella circostanza, a quanto pare, sì.
Appena il primo piatto fa la sua comparsa, nel gineceo ha inizio un'incessante e fastidiosa sequela di "Oddio, è troppo! Non riuscirò mai a finirlo tutto" oppure "No aspetta, dividiamolo." ma anche "Ed io cosa ci faccio con tutta questa pasta?".
Tralasciando volutamente la più sentita delle risposte a quest'ultimo interrogativo, ho dato un'occhiata a quello che mi veniva messo davanti: fusilli al sauce. An ordinary, banal plate of fusilli. Mind you: a dish. Not a cauldron or pot. A flat and not full to the brim.
I raise my puzzled look feminine fauna around me, and assuming the questioning look of Bambi to grips with his legs unsteady on the ice, I start looking around for a minimum signal-functioning brains. In doing so, my eyes meet those of another girl, she evidently astonished at the sight of this frankly depressing. We smile, raising an eyebrow as a sign of understanding. Luckily, I'm not alone! Turning further
do look at the men's where someone apparently unaware of the psychodrama note to my latitude, is already raising the pot in the air looking for an encore. I'm sure that John Gray has taken inspiration from one of these lunches for his work.
then return to my nice flat, I take a fork and start enjoying what I was served. On the third bite, my ears begin to hear words that should be banned from any event edible: diet and chili.
focus even more on my dish, carefully avoiding looking up (never to be interpreted as an invitation to continue the interesting discussion), I try to enjoy without being distracted from that chatter. Wasted effort. The argument has taken hold, now there is no escape ...
resigned, but determined not to get drawn into this conversation, I dedicate my full attention to the delicacy (which frankly, by the way, seemed happy to wait for the task he was given: to be eaten by me), I tend 's ear to listen to the seminar that kicked off around me.
In fact, aside with disdain the food, has opened a debate on their eating habits, on how to actually understand when you are out of shape, on the proper relationship between height and weight until you get to a simultaneous exposure of forearms to test the tone of the party examined. In short, stuff from National Geographic (or forced hospitalization. Do you, I do not want influenzarvi).
A quanto pare, sono diverse le strategie che è possibile mettere in atto nella vita quotidiana per evitare di accumulare peso, alcune già lungamente conosciute: ridurre le porzioni, fare movimento, bere molto prima dei pasti, non sedersi mai completamente affamati e via dicendo.
Quella che mi ha lasciata un pò basita è invece la soluzione adottata da una delle presenti: la donzella in questione, affermava infatti che per evitare di mangiar troppo, si limitava a comprare solo alimenti che non erano di suo gusto. No, dico, si può arrivare a tanto?? Ma neanche la Santa Inquisizione annoverava la cosa tra le tecniche di tortura consentite!
A questa affermazione non ho potuto non alzare lo sguardo verso one who had voiced (because, I admit, I had already finished my portion). Error!
The girl in question, weighing about 50 kg, at that moment was about to embark on one of the phrases destined to remain in the annals of idiocy: "I, for example, are put on weight too, I should lose at least 7 or 8 kg !! "
At that point I faced a crossroads. Was a difficult decision. To point out to all present that, apart from the twig speaking, none of them seemed on the verge of anorexia and that, deep down, even in the most remote of their houses they swallow something every day (and not always in portions of the Goldfinch), stating, however, to looks of disapproval and a few luccicone or get up and let blissfully continue in that vortex of inadequacy and emptiness? I chose the second solution. Pretending (?) An uncontrollable desire to cigarette I got up to go outside to smoke. Tracked down my little dog, who made merry while comfortable, I enjoyed his cuddles before returning inside.
Needless to say, once returned and found that the subject had not changed one iota, feigning interest in the pieces of lamb I've come to the men's side took my seat and I moved there. Do not look before they threw another party deft unfortunate that he followed my example.
What can I say, I had to smile at a few bars definitely an idiot, but you want to put the satisfaction of being able to bite into a piece of egg chocolate without feeling that recalled the bloody, in a few hours, will make his reappearance on my butt?
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