PIZZA POETICS

I've been beset by BIG BURLY MEN and BIG BURLY TRACTORS and BIG BURLY CONRETE TRUCKS since April. I wake up each working day to the music of jackhammers roto-rootering through moi delicate ears. This will be my life for, nota bene, not the initial one-year construction period promised by the hubby. This will be my life for two years.

And the miracle is that I didn't throw a fit.

(Did you believe that? What are you, nutso? Of course I threw a fit...!)

Well, to soothe Moi The Savage Beast, the hubby alerted me today that part of what's being constructed on the MOUNTAIN-WITH-A-BIG-HEADACHE will be a Mugnaini Pizza oven, thus giving Galatea something in common with some purty stellar restos like Chez Panisse.

I grunted at the news.

The hubby tried again -- and we can go HERE for "training"!

And suddenly I am the Happy Martyr. Coz if Moi ass is gonna be jackhammered, Pizza is a good start for recompense. A start, dear Hubby. A start.