Dear Brain: whose purpose are you serving here? Mamma Mia! Sei molto stupida e embarrassante, caro!
An evening of highs and lows was my Saturday. (The day itself was high - thanks, girls, for a great day in Siena!) Ieri Sera, the high began with a few bevvies and then I managed to practice/inflict my Italian in a most useful way, and direct a nice elderly couple towards one of my favourite cosy trattorias a few blocks away.
I hope.
But, in fairness to me, after lying to them and agreeing that I was indeed a local of Firenze, they seemed quite prepared to believe that I was fluent in Italian. I would have come clean if they had needed, like, a hospital or diplomatic immunity or something! I was just getting ready to believe in my alleged fluency myself when I got back to my palazzio. Here comes the low bit: standing out on the street was a helpless and forlorn Patrick Dempsey-meets Ben Affleck Uomo di Italiano. He asked me, in Italian, did I know where to find the Hotel Bavaria?
And I did. I live there, hot Italian man who also dresses well and has glasses, so is therefore intellectual :-)
I managed to blurt out this easy response (minus, of course, the superlatives that I kept for myself!) in fairly flustered and incomprehensible Italian and we went up to the hotel. In silence on my part. In silence because, although I KNOW how to say much more than the following basic bloody sentences: What's your name? Where are you from? How long are you in Firenze? You're unbelievably good looking and I am looking to get married to stay in Italy forever and have 15 children and Sunday lunches in Fiesole - my brain went to butter. No, it was already butter. My brain CURLDED!
Cavolo! It would seem I am now my own worst enemy; even my own brain is turning on me! It won't speak in Italian even when it knows how to. I didn't need to give an Italian oral presentation on the pros and cons of asylum seeker policy in Australia, for God's sake! (Although, I have done that!) Just basic small talk, brain. Christ - I could have given him directions as I was taking him up the stairs; it would have been better than nothing! Cavolo! (That's my new non-swear word, as apparently I swear too much!) It would seem my own brain does not want for me to have 15 children that look like either Patrick Dempsey or Ben Affleck. Why not??? Is it really holding out for Matt Damon? Cos this was a fairly reasonable substitute - work with me here, buddy!
I'm now trying to concentrate on the positives - the one positive - which is that he didn't even say thank you when we arrived. It's still kind of a shame, though, as I had recovered my A Game (ha!) and had my best 'prego' prepared.
Cavolo. Prego! That is apparently the best I could do after only ten minutes before giving word perfect directions. Oh Crap!! I probably sent that couple to Siberia! I hope there's no 'bad' area of Firenze. I hope I don't soon pass two elderly persons huddled in a doorway clutching a cardboard sign that reads: need money. Mugged after following the directions of anglo with delusions of Italian grandeur!
I think my A Game is ever so slightly flawed!
Dear Brain: You owe me big time! You must repay me for the damage you have done!
Devi farmi parlare molto bene l'italiano questa settimana. Altrimenti ti ucciderò. Ti ribelli! Basta!
Cavolo!!! Or, cavoli? GOD DAMMIT!!
Anyway - my last week. I have pledged to speak in Italian for the whole week. No exceptions.
This should be a really interesting week. lol.
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