2009 will be a shocking year for me. I’m not going to sky dive or bungy jump, I’m too scared for that, but I still want to do something fearless. I’m ready to take this step. I’ll learn to use commas correctly. To, make, my, husband, happy, so, that, he, doesn’t, have, to, read, my, pieces, before, I, submit, and, so, that, I, don’t, have, to, hear, his, theory, that, I’m, not, focusing.
After I take this step and, commit the fearless act taking care of the commas, I’m going to try to be more Italian. How do I do that, you may wonder, given that I was born and raised in Italy? Shouldn’t I work on melting in?
Well, I feel like I’m pretty meshed in with the flow as it is. It’s time to focus on my roots by eating tons of Italian food and by working on thickening my accent. No longer biscuits, but fresh Italian bread. No longer diet coke but Chinotto – I already drink red wine, so I have that one covered pretty well. I’ll start baking desserts. Maybe I’ll even make that tiramisu that I promised my husband ten years ago to prove that I am 100% Italian. I’ll also definitely try to speak more Italian to my children on a regular basis, so that they can yell at bad drivers in Italy, when we go back to visit relatives.
In the new year, my husband has been walking around in his favorite T-shirt, which reads “Pray for me, my Wife’s Italian.” It’s a joke shirt I bought for him a few years ago, though I sometimes accuse him of wearing it without irony. So I think it’s safe to say that the passionate part of the Italian authenticity I have plenty of, and perhaps my goal should be “targeted enthusiasm” – letting loose my Latin side without reservation, except when a little reservation is called for. No need to go overboard.
Here is my biggest 2009 decision. Today is the last time I reference my husband in my column. He’ll no longer appear in his present shape or form. His overdeveloped sense of privacy and reluctance to be mentioned, directly or indirectly, in my writing has led me to the only possible solution: fictional elimination. From this day forward my husband is George Clooney. I tried a cast of rotating actors in 2008, but I like George the best. So, from now on, when I talk about my husband, I’ll call him George, the super hot and dashingly handsome military guy I am married to.
Will George and I last? Only the magic of 2009 will tell, but I’ll give it my best shot. Odds are in my favor that as long as I have interest, things will progress given that it’s a unilateral relationship, and divorce isn’t an option.
Lastly, I hope that I can enjoy as much as I can of my days and spend some time with loved ones, including husband George.
Anita Doberman is a freelance writer, mother of five and wife of an Air Force pilot stationed at Hurlburt AFB in Florida. Contact her at: