"I always thought I'd marry an Italian guy."
The Boy and the Girl glanced at each other and then they both glanced at Jason.
"I don't know," I told them. "I just always did. I grew up in Upper East Tennessee y'all. The only Italian people I ever heard of were blatant, scary stereotypes. Mafia guys."
They laughed. Cautiously.
"Seriously. I thought I'd marry a really loud, blue-collar guy, have a ton of kids, live in an apartment building, sit on the stoop and shout randomly at people in the street and suddenly become Catholic."
They all stared at me.
"I'm kind of a huge jerk," I explained.
No one disagreed.
"Really, I don't know why I thought that," I sighed. "Probably something on television."
"You do love television," the Boy Child agreed.
We were all quiet for a moment until the Boy Child said,
"Well, Dad does look like he's sort of Italian." Clearly a reach, but a nice effort all the same.
To which Jason replied,
"BADABOOM, BADABING! FUGGEDABOUDIT!"
"Well," said The Girl Child. "There you go."