Three's Company. Fifteen's a Crowd.

One of my friends always used to say, "Life is made up of peaks and valleys. And you never know when either one is going to hit." If Sunday was a peak, then Monday was a valley. 
I don't know if it was talking to people back home or my body recovering from Sundays festivities, but Monday comes with a black cloud and a really crappy feeling. Maria notices something is wrong and we talk about this and that while prepping house for the 13 guests we'll be having tonight for a dinner party. She puts on music she thinks will get me in a better mood and I set off to clean up parts of the house inside and out. It's a nice day out, so Maria is hoping the sunshine will perk me up - "You look very pale this morning," and sends me outside. 
By the afternoon things aren't improving and I decide I need to get out of the house and walk around. I've been here a week and haven't left the house more than twice, and both times with Maria and Keith. In Italy, cars have to be insured, not the driver, and since I can drive manual, Keith lets me know that I can take the car at anytime. 
After I've put in my hours for the day, I take the little Panda (think oversized SmartCar)into town and park in the main square. Driving around is so narrow, but so fun, I start to lighten up a bit. Unlike the last time I drove in this country over a year ago, there are no time trials of how fast I can get somewhere. This time I'm just aiming for safety and no scratches on their car. 
Everyone that has met me here so far says I don't look American and that I must have some Italian in my heritage. You wouldn't know it by the looks I get walking around town. With a small population, everyone knows everyone and whoever this girl is walking around is not someone they know. I take a few pictures, realize I'm in freaking Italy and perk myself up. After successfully navigating my way back to the house, being careful to honk when going around any blind hair pin turns (these are one lane roads and two cars don't exactly fit so you need to make your upcoming presence known), I feel a bit more like myself. Which is needed, because guests will be arriving in less than two hours. 
The theme for the night is Mexican. Maria likes to change it up every so often and do something different. Tonight will be totally different from last night, with mostly friends, no family. To go along with the Mexican theme, they have asked me to make margaritas. Being from Texas and so close to Mexico, I should be an expert. Well, it just so happens I do know quite a good recipe from a friend and I commence making Phrogaritas (a name my friends back in Texas know well). Made only with tequila, Cointreau, lime juice and orange juice, it's a rather strong drink. Salting the rims of glasses in these parts isn't exactly the norm, but I do a few anyway, hoping people will be somewhat adventurous. Not quite. 
Several things go wrong with the night. As Italians sometimes do, the guests invited have brought along extra people without letting Keith or Maria know, so we are now up to 15 people at a table that barely seats 13. And they are one and a half hours late. With a fairly complex menu, ribs, chicken wings, quesadillas and fritters for starters (yes, those are just starters), fried rice and chili con carne for the second course, sea bass with prawns in a white wine sauce for the third course, bean salad for the fourth course and then meringue with homemade whip cream and berries and chocolate mousse for dessert, Maria needs people to be slightly on time - or at least call to say they'll be late. But they don't. And when they do arrive, they aren't exactly the most adventurous of eaters. For appetizers (starters that I mentioned earlier are actually part of the meal), Maria makes a cream sauce and shrimp on toast points as well as avocado dip and veggies and crostinis with cream cheese, salmon and fennel. Yeah. Did I mention the woman can cook?!? While every one seems comfortable mostly with the food, there isn't the outpouring of amazement you would find back in the States if someone served up a meal of this size and complexity for FIFTEEN people. They aren't big drinkers either so while they margaritas do get consumed, they aren't with the gusto you would have seen in Texas. 
And then there's the fact that I don't speak Italian. While Sunday people figured out a way to communicate with me, these people aren't having much of it. One of them jokes with me in some of the only Italian I understood all night about how it makes sense that I only know one language, I'm American, after all. For some reason this sticks me in the side (and the ego) more than any other time before, even though it's just a joke. In that moment I decide I'm not going to be a stupid American anymore and vow to get down to studying from tonight on.
On the bright side, I've met a Canadian. She's Julie - 22, fluent in Italian, English and Russian (her family is from there) and working on a farm nearby that are friends with Maria and Keith. She also stayed with Keith and Maria before I arrived, so she has come tonight for dinner. She'll be around for another two weeks like me and we decide to get together again before we go our separate ways; her to Russia to visit her grandparents and me to Bologna for my next host.
Finally at 11:30, everyone is tired enough to depart. The house looks like a food bomb has gone off and we clean only a small part of the mess before leaving it to head to bed ourselves. Keith remarks to me as we shut the house, "I know we have these parties and usually they're pretty good fun, but I really rather prefer it when it's just the three of us." Me too.