True about food and football, but my Italian world is primarily female. DH & DS excepted. And my observation tells me that they are obsessed about
1 - air (the sort that moves, naturally or electric powered, and attacks your neck)
2 - water (mostly the cold stuff, which causes instant heart attacks. particularly is you so much as dip a toe in a body of the stuff after a cold glass of liquid) and bloody ironing.
3 - ironing - All my mates have these massive ironing systems and clothes drying racks from Foppapedretti that cost more than our car did.
In contrast I am their crumpled mate who will always guarantee a win for them when in direct competition with me in the Ironing Olympics. Which has appeared to make me quite popular 🤣.
They were lovely when MIL died. The first thing they thought of was coming over to take away the clothes she was to buried in and uncrumple them for iron-free me. We had a nice “console the DIL” thing going on, with them waving magic hot air blowing things at the outfit and then micro ironing it to perfection.
Was useful and comforting to have them flock over, take the “women’s work” load off me ( I had no idea what I was supposed to do as the lone female in the family for an Italian funeral) and be around me with busy competence plus real warmth. Way better than any expensive couriered flowers and vague offers of being there if I needed somebody. Long live the ironing olympics ( she says as she limps in last).