“We’ll go to Italy.”

I paused and made that very specific head movement, where you tilt your neck slightly so your face is pointing just  to the side and below, but you move your eyes up and to the other side, so that you’re still looking at him, and you lift one corner of your mouth, specifically the corner corresponding to the direction that you’ve tilted your head, and you lower your brow and squint your eyes a little. This look usually says something like “Are you sure?” or “Um, I don’t think so!” or “That’s a foolish suggestion unless you very clearly explain otherwise.” So I asked him to explain otherwise.

“What’s in Italy?”

“What’s in Italy? A city made of canals! The collosseum! Pisa. Pizza! Pasta. Mascarpone. Montepulciano! Mozzarella? Gelato, sunshine…”

And then I put on a more symmetrical mask of disdain.

“Yes. Great. Mascarpone is not going to save our marriage, Rob.”