Italy goes on pasta strike

I knew there was a good reason why I ate half a pound of penne with pesto the other night! It wasn't because I had exhausted so much energy working out and needed the fuel, because the last time I went to the gym I walked around it like a zombie, curiously touching the machines and lying on a towel looking at the weights. I did ride one of the bikes, but after 10 minutes at the lowest resistance possible I decided that I would rather go get a drink of water and a new towel. To lie on. Doing nothing. It was a really worthwhile gym experience.
So it wasn't for that reason that I devoured the pasta. And it wasn't because my body was feeling the need for more carbs, since I graciously fed it bread and breadlike snacks all day long.
Why, then, would I stuff myself until I literally felt like I might explode and wondered if it had, in fact, not been such a good idea? It was because I am Italian and my super Italian powers sensed (just sensed!) that the people of Italy were being asked to do the unthinkable--give up pasta for one entire day. No eating it, no buying it, no thinking about it. Hmmm...they probably were allowed to think about it. But that's not the point. Because of recent price hikes, they had to forego the food of their forefathers and I, clueing into their pain, was simply doing what seemed right. I was eating pasta for my people. A lot of pasta.
Here's the story.