I’m having people over for dinner on Thursday, so I called my grandmother to get her spaghetti sauce recipe. I never got the recipe — I told her that I was going to a wedding this weekend, so we started talking about marriage. She told me how a friend, at 17, was choosing between two suitors — one who was rich and one who treated her like gold.

Imagine my 79 year-old Italian grandmother telling/yelling this: “The rich one — he had the money! You know? His father owned a funeral parlor. He would take her out; he would take her out to fancy dinners in the hearse. She wanted the fantasy. You should always marry the one who treats you nicer.”

Apparently the friend eventually married Nick, the nicer guy, though she may have continued to dream about nights on the town in a hearse.

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