Can't get more Italian than that.

I like being a make-believe Italian. Might as well. Because I’m living in Italy. Since November. With my Italian true love. In Sardinia. Anyway, I’m beginning to feel like a real Italian. Though I know it’s pretend. I genuinely feel at home. Even though I don’t speak much Italian. You might call me a quiet Italian. Though my true love would disagree. Says I talk too much. Maybe I do. In English. And she gets the brunt of it. Because she speaks and understands English. I tell her that when walking down the street, I’m occasionally taken for an Italian gentleman. She thinks that’s a little too much pretending. Maybe a bit preposterous. I tell her I may try to vote in the Italian election. Just to see if I could pull it off. Similar to voting in Chicago, where even dead people have been known to vote. I’ve also mastered the art of driving in Italy. Like an impatient maniac in a hurry. I’m also wearing Italian-made shoes and sweaters. Very stylish. And I’m calling myself Giacomo. Instead of Jim. And among other things, I fancy myself to be a lover. Can’t get more Italian than that. –Jim Broede