Week 3: Why I love Labello lip balm, how I burned my hand, and what happens when Gilda gets in the sack

So first it was a tablecloth, artfully draped over my torso to indicate that I'm the dead body. Then it was a sack just covering my head, but they decided that it wouldn't be realistic enough to assume that no one would notice 'he' was a 'she.' So now, after much ado, I'm in a sack. Full length, head to toe, sack. And after my father discovers that it's me in the sack and not the Duke, he has to throw his 6'5, over 250lbs frame over my dead body and lament. One thing they do NOT teach you in acting class is what to do when you're supposed to be dead and therefore not feel the pain in your hip sockets from being bent into abnormal positions that a dead body usually assumes when it goes limp. Riiight.

In other news, I purchased some melon flavored labello lip balm and it is true adult love. If I could find the equivalent for the rest of my body, I would be so happy. And to the DP, I'm still on the hunt for the exotic containers of Nivea. Only a few more months and I'll be in your neck of the woods!

So this is how I burned my hand. I was doing dishes at my friends, the Briggs', apartment. They have been kind enough to trade off cooking with me so we can all eat together like civilized people. So they had to run off to opera and I offered to do the dishes, not having been forewarned about the insanely hot water that comes out of the faucet. And I'm a fan of hot water, but when it leaves raised welts on your hand when you happen to run your hand under the faucet, there's a problem. I still have the welts. End of story.

Fourth of July was celebrated by myself and the other southerners from Georgia. Italy was playing Portugal in the semi-finals of the World Cup on the 4th, so the piazza was bedlam. They pull out a 'maxi-schermo' and hang it from the balcony of the tallest building and project the match and everyone comes out and watches it and each time Italy scores, the boys get on their scooters and zip around the town, honking their horns and yelling and such, so when they won, it was even crazier. I was sitting on the balcony with an enormous cup of homemade sweet tea, waiting for the burgers to be done (note to Americans: Italy does pork in a big way. Not so much with the beef.) and hearing the roar coming from the piazza, which only reinforced my decision to watch the match on the television and not down in the piazza. Burgers with peccorino and bacon, mashed potatos with garlic and rosemary, and vats and vats of sweet tea. Nothing says Go America! like a big burger and sweet tea.

And here's your pop culture for the day: the only thing more strange than BBC dramas with Italian over-dubbing is the Family Guy cartoon, completely translated into Italian. My husband would be so happy.

Home in two weeks. Think of me on Sunday when I'm taking cover during the World Cup Finals.