annoying! Twelve months 
we return. A week off is not much, I know. But it may suffice when the phone is switched off and turn on your computer just to see the weather forecast is completely ignoring the post. When you read the newspapers only insert less demanding, and Tigga is already so if you hear the headlines. A week tete-a-tete with the little funny little man, just to have knowledge of what can be challenging for the grandmothers who are caring for him when all day long. For it to go to work, by comparison, is relaxing.
But last night I had a lump of sadness. I thought of the telephone ringing, the people who can not wait to tell you that within the new
of which you can not care less, the colleague who does not wait even a minute to highlight what has been exhausting for them this
week, perhaps the worst of the year, but luckily they managed
to dab. I thought phrases like hateful
help us with the recall? and
we must take stock of the situation. And then, worst of all: what will be a winter
fire. But what the hell's winter? has yet to finish the summer, autumn arrives and you think winter already?? and maybe even begin to do the Christmas tree. No sir, I still have the deck chairs on the terrace and flip-flops on your feet, and I will not give so easily the first breeze of September. And my desire to engage seriously in the workplace is directly proportional to the desire for snow.
Eventually I realized that this syndrome
return that surely will continue until late October is a clear symptom of my vocation to the profession of homemaker. I was fine with the little funny little man to make a call and motor speed
boubou , and its mass of coils I weighed less than responding to the phone. I knew not to be ambitious, at least at work, but I did not know that one day I would have preferred to do what once would have made me shudder: the notorious femme au foyer
. And if I were a rich
femme au foyer, I would not hesitate a moment. But since more than a
Upper East Side housewife , I'd be a housewife in Voghera, I just have to commit to safeguard
seasons that who knows who no longer have exist. And if you residents of this spit of pseudocittà foot hill where every morning, you're already thinking about eating orzotto beans, mushrooms and chestnuts, tonight I shot me a nice ice-cream as it does in summer, which ends - hear hear - September 21, twenty-September.
(Già. A mixture of discomfort in the vortex. But it passes. You should always return from holiday mid-week. The day after tomorrow is already Friday)
A HORN! 
