Days pass inexorably, especially when you're well, and my holiday sta volgendo tristemente al termine. Tuttavia la vita di paese e il mio ampio parentado offrono continuamente il fianco alla mia penna.
Qualche sera fa sono stato alla grigliata di famiglia organizzata da mio cugino Marco (figlio di Maurizio e Irma). Il giardino pavimentato del palazzo familiare è stato riempito di barbecue fumanti e tavoli con qualsiasi tipo di bevanda. Tranne mia cugina Michela, c’erano tutti: zio Maurizio e zia Irma con figli e fidanzate incinta, zio Massimo e zia Ester con figli e figli dei figli, zio Manfredo e zia Stefania con figli e fidanzate non incinta. C’erano anche due miei cari amici, David e Silvia che hanno assistito-subito la grande riunione di famiglia. Il primo siparietto riguarda il bassotto di mia cugina Maddalena (figlia di Massimo e Ester). Mi è stato immediatamente presentato. L’ho forse guardato con un minimo di disprezzo (non vado pazzo per i cani di piccola taglia) e sono stato altrettanto immediatamente redarguito:
«Che c’è non ti piace il mio bassotto??»
«No no, è che sembrava un topo»
«Ma quale topo, guarda è così carino», intanto il mini quadrupede si allontanava tranquillo in mezzo alle erbacce del giardino.
«Oddio‼ Non appoggia la zampina‼ Si è slogato! Oddio‼»
«Chiamiamo un’ambulanza?»
«Smettila! Vieni qui piccolino fammi controllare».
Il bassotto è tornato zompettando tranquillamente sano come un pesce.
Il menù della serata comprendeva tutti i tipi di carne conosciuti, dal pollo alle salsicce passando per spiedini, fiorentine e wurstel più circa 400 pomodorini al gratin cucinati, con tecniche diverse, dalle tre zie. Io e Marco, dall’alto della nostra esperienza in fatto di pomodorini – dopo averne divorati una quarantina – abbiamo stilato in gran segreto (per non offenderle) una classifica. Ma si sa, i segreti in famiglia non ci devono essere, quindi la pubblico:
Prima a furor di popolo Irma, con il suo pomodorino classico al forno.
Seconda Stefania, col pomodorino alla griglia.
Terza Ester, per colpa del pan grattato allappante.
Protagonista unico della the evening was little Tommy, the youngest son of Mary Magdalene. It is unlikely juggle cocktails mixing wine, Coke, water and beer with a final splash of lime hysterically pouring the concoction of a glass to another. He started the scaffoldings of wood skewers over the flame of the candles to extinguish them having fun in the arms of my cousin Manuela (daughter of Manfredo and Stefania). After his last cry of the mother to stop commented
"Okay I'll stop, I just do not break them cojoni. Last but not least
waiter was improvised by cutting slices of cake for all (even for those who did not want). Rather than call him Tommy damage. But the apex
was reached when Uncle Max pulled out a bottle of champagne to celebrate my cousin Marc (son of Manfred and Stefan) who has just bought a beautiful boat. Just before uncorking the chair on which he was sitting quietly uncle Manfredo has literally disintegrated knocking him to the ground. During the fall violet feet have hit the table in front of plates full of food, glasses, bottles and a glass jar candle full of shells that flew in unison as they had been thrown away. Going to smash between the wall and floor, touching Margherita (girlfriend of Marcello). Not even the best special effects would have been able to reproduce such perfection. Cleaned up the pieces that were magically contained in fifty square inches and stopped Tommy-Damage wanted to memorize the hands to make a shell, we decided it was time to go to the streets in Numana raged where a fashion show.
Usually the square of the country is sadly empty, apart from the six or seven inevitable stalls selling the same things for thirty years. This time there was delirium. Almost no one walked. And all for what? A squalid procession of underwear and fur, unbelievably, by Jo Ring. In total 'mediaset mode' (cited Graf) while introducing the various lines of clothing with texts from the sale television. All interspersed with jokes and winking ditty: she sang 'Everybody need sombedody' Blues Brothers, two opera singers (so to speak) who sang 'I love you very much' of Caruso. A forest man cheering while there was talk of coypu, foxes and minks slaughtered to make clothes. The beauty of the model is in second place before this surreal show in its cynicism. I ran away in disgust and I have taken refuge from Morelli. I drown the thoughts in a glass of bitter and went home. Preserving the memory of the night with relatives in almost complete, which should happen more often and I want a lot of good.
PS Back home with David, Silvia and my beloved cousin Monica we started talking. David and Sylvia sat on divanone velvety inflatable bought at the beginning of vacation. In the middle of the conversation David got up at once to get a glass on the table, while Silvia with terror in his eyes is back hood with all the couch. Without in any way cure us of the conditions of the poor Silvia we exploded into a hearty laugh, for those hard to stop. At this point, since it does not come in threes, I coat myself very nearly alone, just for solidarity ...
