To her crabby face.

A crab lady lives in the flat below us. She's naturally born crabby. I can tell by the tone of her voice. She speaks Italian. So I don't understand the actual words. But she sounds crabby all the time. And the other night she aimed her vitriol at my true love. From a balcony overlooking the parking lot. While we were trying to park our tiny Fiat in cramped space next to crab lady's vehicle. Anyway, crab lady's ranting annoyed me. I insist that my true love be treated with respect. My true love shouted back. With my unequivocal approval. I wish I spoke Italian. So that I could personally verbally accost crab lady. And I suggested later that we visit crab lady and teach her manners. How to be polite. And I asked my true love if she would translate my words. But she declined. Figuring it was best to leave well enough alone. It's been rare that I find a crabby Italian. They are a good-natured lot. Including our neighbors across the way. Alessio and Patrizia. Alessio speaks a little bit of English. He works for an American aluminum manufacturer here in Carbonia. Alessio is Italian for Alex or Alexander. And my name, Jim or James, translates to Giacomo in Italian. I prefer the Italian sounding names over the English ones. And so I'm starting to introduce myself as Giacomo. Now I have to find out the Italian words for crab lady. And I'll start calling her that. To her crabby face. --Jim Broede