"What do you mean, you will not continue in my Italian class? Perché?" Signor Flavio demanded. "This is irresponsabile! You are, come si dice?... last minute! You are too last minute! I have already spoken to the other students. No one is leaving this class. Nessuno!One year of lessons in Italian was quite enough, grazie mille. Instead, Kacey had decided on a class called Zen Golf: It's not about the score. After the frustration of Signor Flavio's class, the idea of harassing something for eighteen holes and smacking it over and over again with a heavy metal stick had opened up her Buddha mind."And your verbs, signora? Do you think they will follow you around like the stray cats in Rome if you throw them some leftover linguini once in a while? Impossibile! You must care and feed i tuoi verbi or they will soon be dead, morti," he warned.He was right about that. A love of Italy did not change the fact that Kacey still pronounced bruschetta with an sh instead of an sk and had no idea what Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman were all worked up about in their latest Italian duet. No, it was true, her verbi were already on life support."So, Signora Kacey, still I am here with your verbs. You will continue coming to my class, sì? What is your answer to my question? "Well really, what choice did she have? Since she had always felt intimidated by Signor Flavio, she was incapable of suggesting what else he might do with his leftover linguini. She was the victim of an ambush and forced into another year of Italian classes. At least that's how she saw it.She slammed down the phone and immediately began to backfill for ego control. It began with the thought that every Wednesday night, there would be an unnecessary hole in her schedule if she had stood up to Signor Flavio and told him no, you crazy person, no more Italian classes. She might even feel a loss of purpose as well as the damn verbs. Also, she had to admit that over the past year