The waiter, with a silver domed platter held high, weaved his way through the crowded restaurant. He placed the heavy silver dish on their table and, with a dramatic flourish, lifted off the lid. There, squatting angrily on the platter, an apple between it's teeth, was an entire pig's head. This is what my mother had ordered.
"I'm not eating that!" she exclaimed.
The whole restaurant, having followed the progress of the waiter, burst into laughter.
When things had calmed down, my dad whispered:
"Don't worry. I'll eat it"
As he commenced tucking in, a smile playing around his lips, my mother breathed out heavily:
"I think you should know that I'm pregnant"
It turns out that I was conceived on a wall in Minori, Italy, earlier in the trip.
My dad, unperturbed, gestured with his fork towards the pig's head and said:
"I suppose we are going to have to marry you then".