When I was a toddler, my Italian mother caught me in her study.
I'd gotten into a drawer full of Greek plays. She walked in to catch me tearing Hippolytus in half. I'd done the same to others as well. The Bacchae, Heracles, Madea. As I stood there, happily shredding what had to be a 120 year old text, she began flailing and screaming.
"My a-beautiful boy...