I've always been able to cook Italian food. That's in my blood because I'm half Sicilian.

I've always been able to cook Italian food. That's in my blood because I'm half Sicilian.

In real life, I tend to yell at people a lot. Not because I'm bossy or mean, but because I'm frustrated.

Maybe I've moved to the dark side, but it's clean and nice and we never run out of toilet paper.

Really? If I could hate my trainer? That would be ideal. I'd prefer to despise this person with the fire of ten thousand suns. So when I walk - nay, crawl - out of here at the end of my workouts, I want to lull myself to sleep by picturing my very talented and inspirational trainer getting hit by a bus. A bus that I am driving.

Over the summer we chatted one night while Angie stripped a bed, changed wet sheets, comforted and repajamaed a toddler, and chased down a car of speeding teenagers while shaking a brick at them, never once interrupting the conversation or setting down her margarita. The only reason this woman isn't president of General Motors is because she's chosen not to be.

Fletch then kisses me on the forehead before opening the cabinet under the coffeemaker to grab placemats and napkins. Retrieving these items is his job because I kind of don't like to bend. I also refuse to carry anything heavier than my purse.