You know you’re Italian when:
>
> You can bench press 325 pounds, twice a day and still cry
> when your mother yells at you.
>
> You carry your lunch in a produce bag because you can’t fit
> two cappacola sandwiches, 4 oranges, 2 bananas, and pizzelles
> into a regular lunch bag.
>
> Your mechanic, plumber, electrician,
> accountant, travel agent and lawyer are all your cousins.
>
> You have at least 5 cousins living in the same town or on the same block.
>
> All five of those cousins are named after your grandfather or grandmother.
>
> You are on a first name basis with at least 8 banquet hall owners
>
> You only get one good shave from a disposable razor.
>
> If someone in your family grows beyond 5’ 9”, it is presumed his
> Mother had an affair.
>
> There were more than 28 people in your bridal party.
>
> You netted more than $50,000 on your first communion.
>
> And you REALLY, REALLY know you’re Italian when … .
>
> Your grand father had a fig tree.
>
> You eat Sunday dinner at 12:00.
>
> Christmas Eve … only fish.
>
> Your mom’s meatballs are the best.
>
> You’ve been hit with a wooden spoon or had a shoe thrown at you.
>
> Clear plastic covers on all the furniture.
>
> You know how to pronounce “manicotti” and “mozzarella.”
>
> You fight over whether it’s called “sauce” or “gravy.”
>
> You’ve called someone a “mamaluke.”
>
> And you understand “bada bing “.
>
> Italians have a $40,000 kitchen, but use the $259 stove from Sears
> in the basement to cook.
>
> There is some sort of religious statue in the hallway, living room,
> bedroom, front porch and backyard.
>
> The living room is filled with old wedding favors with poofy net
> bows and stale almonds (they are too pretty to open).
>
> A portrait of the Pope and Frank Sinatra hang in the dining room.
>
> God forbid if anyone EVER attempted to eat ‘Chef-Boy-ar-dee’,
> ‘Franco American’, ‘Ragu’, ‘Prego’, » or anything else labeled as
> Italian in a jar or can.
>
> Meatballs are made with pork, veal and beef. Italians do not care
> about cholesterol.
>
> Turkey is served on Thanksgiving AFTER the manicotti, gnocchi,
> lasagna, and minestrone or shcarole soup.
>
> If anyone EVER says ESCAROLE, slap ‘em in the face — it’s SHCAROLE.
> Sunday dinner : Served at 2:00 PM sharp. The meal went like this…
>
> The table was set with everyday dishes.  It doesn’t matter if they don’t
> match. They’re clean; what more do you want?
>
> All the utensils go on the right side of the plate and the napkin goes
> on the left.
>
> A clean kitchen towel was put at Nonna’s & Papa’s plates because
> they won’t use napkins.
>
> Homemade wine and bottles of 7-UP are on the table.
>
> First course, Antipasto…change plates.
>
> Second course, macaroni…all pasta was called macaroni…change plates.
>
> Third course, roast beef, potatoes and vegetables…change plates.
>
> THEN, and only then - NEVER AT THE BEGINNING OF THE MEAL
> …would you eat the salad drenched in homemade oil & vinegar dressing…
> change plates.
>
> Next course, fruit & nuts - in the shell - on paper plates because you ran
> out of the real ones.
>
> Last was coffee with anisette espresso for Nonna, ‘American’ coffee for
> the rest - with hard cookies (biscotti) to dunk in the coffee.
>
> The kids would go out to play.
>
> The men would go lay down. They slept so soundly that you could do
> brain surgery on them without anesthesia.
>
> The women cleaned the kitchen.
>
> We got screamed at by Mom or Nonna, and half of the sentences were
> English, the other half Italian.
>
> Italian mothers never threw a baseball in their life, but could nail you
> in the
> head with a shoe thrown from the kitchen while you were in the living
> room.
>
> Other things particular to Italians…
>
> The prom dress that Zia Ceserina made you cost only $20.00, which was
> for the material.
>
> The prom hairdo was done free by Cousin Angela.
> Turning around at the prom to see your entire family, including your
> Godparents, standing in the back of the gym… PRICELESS!
>
> True Italians will love this. Those of you who are married to Italians
> will understand this. And those who wish they were Italian, and those
> who are friends with Italians, will remember with a smile. Then they’ll
> forward this to their Italian friends with love or a reasonable facsimile.