Alice hates ...

Just had a rather interesting conversation with Mom. About my heritage.

During the Ohio State-Xavier game this morning (I heart Ohio) my Most Favorite Reporter (sarcasm) decided to chat me up in that 9-second stretch before Ohio tied it up for OT.

He's talking, I'm staring at the screen.

"Oh yeah. Aren't you Irish?" (Serious WTF moment. Then I remembered: It's St. Patty's Day, and I have red hair.)

"Um, no."

"What? Sure you are."

"I'm not. Not even a little."

"Fair skin, green eyes, and beautiful red hair? You're lying."

"No, I'm .... YESSSSSS!!!" (Okay, I'm guessing here. I don't remember exactly what I said, because they had just tied it up and I was excited.)

The fact is, I'm not Irish. Not even a little, as I'd said. I'm pretty much 100% Italian. But I do have the red hair and a love of potatoes. When I get annoyed with my family, and this happened a lot in Italy, I'd say something like, "Oh yeah? Well, fuck you, you dirty Italian." Or there's my favorite expression, "Just another dirt/lazy Giuseppe." It works out because the rest of my family does look Italian. And I look like the bastard red-headed stepchild.

Not bitter. This story's amusing, I swear.

So when I get home, Mom's watching a documentary about Ireland.

"Come watch this. You can pick out where you were born." I laughed a little, and told her what A had said.

"And I get that every year," I said. "But I'm not. Even a little bit. Maybe a bit from Grandma Q, she's like Irish and Italian or something."
"No, she's not from Ireland. She's from Hell." I laughed. "But on your other side, Grandpa Don's half English. Shorty, your great-grandfather, was English."
"And great grandma Alice?"
"Yeah," she smiled. "Alice was from Hell, too. A lesser demon, I think. One of Satan's underlings."

So that's where I get the red hair from. No Irish heritage, nothing like that. My hair comes from my Satanic heritage. Be afraid, boys and girls. Be afraid.