It's the only way. We fashion icons must stick together.
I reach above my head for a saucepan from the rack, which is mysteriously empty. I pause. My son is still silent, “mute” but hopefully voluntarily. I notice a footprint on the cooker where the pot of wooden spoons should be. Someone is trying to derail the cook, a conspiracy campaign no doubt.
Nonna appears in the kitchen, I beam “good morning, did you have a better night's sleep?”
“Sleep. Did you sleep?”
“Am I o.k.?”
“I don't know. Are you?”
“Am I, you know……..?” She smiles hugely with a little shimmy.
I beam back none the wiser.
“I am dressed!”
“Ooo so you are.”
“No…….am I……..….you know……….o.k.?”
I push back my bifocals and take a better look at her, all dressed in immaculately laundered white, with a speck of childish innocence.
Oh of course! A special occasion! Guests!
“Yes, you look lovely.”