Maialina

Okay. I'm pretty sure that I've got some sign on my back that is noticable to everyone but me, and that sign says "please make me the butt of your jokes".

Marco and Cipri (or Chippers as the Italians call him) are working the harvest at Ceretto. They are 23 and 24 years old respectively, and Chippers has been married for five years! Marco told me that people in Romania marry as early as 15, but he lies a lot so who knows.

Anyways, Marco and Cipri have a lot of fun picking on us, and the reassuring us each time that "EETS A JOOKE". I have no idea how Marco arrived at this conclusion, but yesterday he spent about thirty minutes trying to tell me that I'm like a MOTHER PIG. He started out snorting very loudly and stomping around. This was then followed by him motioning with his hands that he had many nipples on his body.

The thing is, this can be interpreted in many ways, right? They have, from the get-go, been very impressed by the fact that I clear my plate at lunch every day. So there's definitely an element of pig in there. However, Italians typically take offense if you fail to eat everything in front of you. So this means I'm really just sending my compliments to the chef, right?

Another reason he might feel this way is because every day I end up getting about five times dirtier than any other girl here. So what? The huge bin of stems needed to be compressed so I jumped in the bin and pounded them down with my boots. Wear a raincoat while powerspraying the press clean? Not my style. I'd rather get my hands dirty! Besides, then I can just toss all of my clothes after the harvest and buy a whole new wardrobe!

Just kidding, Dad.