Today my mother and I were invited to a luncheon for the purpose of helping our friend Italia (that's really and truly her name) and her business partner, Stella, brainstorm ideas for their new catering business.
So, while we discussed marketing strategies and sample menus, Italia fed us minestrone, spaghetti alla carbonara, insalata caprese, assorted cheeses, salad w/ lemon juice and olive oil, peppers and onions, and wine; by the time we sipped our espressos, we came up with the following logo:
Stella and Italia: Bringing Authentic Italian Cuisine to Your Door
As a business luncheon, it was such a gastronomical feast. Italia is a fantastic cook; in fact, whenever my husband and I get an invitation to dinner, we clear our calendar. And she always sends us home with leftovers.
After lunch we kissed Italia and Stella goodbye on both cheeks (true Italians that we are) and walked outside to discover that my van had a flat tire.
Completely and totally flat.
Now, I consider myself fairly independent. I can make decisions, find my way through foreign airports, and deal with you-know-who being out of town for a week, but the one thing I cannot do is change a tire.
BUT, a flat tire wasn't going to stop Maria, Massimilla, Italia, and Stella.
It started raining, and there we were: Stella was trying to jack up the van, I was reading the car manual while holding an umbrella over Stella, my Mom was calling my father, and Italia was connecting a gazillion extension cords to an air compressor in the hopes that we could inflate the tire, at least temporarily.
Our numbers grew. A lady walked out of her house to offer advice. A retired gentleman walked up the street to help, and another man stopped his car to check on us. Soon, there were people crawling all over that van ... but no one could locate the spare tire.
By the time my Dad drove up, we had managed to get air in the tire, which lasted long enough for my Dad to follow me to Tire Kingdom to purchase a new tire. And while he stayed to supervise things, I drove his truck to pick up the boys from school (btw, truck + carpool lane = cool mom).
So, how many Italians does it take to change a tire?
Actually, I'm not really sure, but if you will please excuse me I have some delicious leftovers to eat.