one of the greatest things about living with a family who speaks another language is the inevitable moment in which one makes a subtle but grievous error. switch some letters around, confuse your vocabulary, experience some maschile-feminile discordance in a high pressure situation: languages can be minefields. but with the right attitude you can also turn yourself into a source of entertainment for those generous enough to invite you into their home. briefly, my top two.
last monday, when i moved in to my new digs in the apartment of i Signori Gallo, i put all my stuff down in my room and then, during the tour, asked if they would prefer if i took off my shoes when i came into the house. or at least that's what i intended to ask. my clothing vocabulary is a little rusty, so in actuality i asked these wonderful retirees if they would prefer, upon entering the house, if i took off my pants. good one.
just tonight - monday is apparently my off-day: at dinner we were talking about varieties of local sausage and i proudly recalled a type that we had shared the week previous - the complex and delicious san budello. but, again, the disconnect between the tongue and a mind overtaken by hubris: what i ended up saying was 'san bordello,' which, after a period of collective and prolonged laughter, my host sister informed me by less-than-subtle circumlocution to mean 'holy whorehouse.'
1 comment:
I heard a homily last week in which the priest described a similar situation encountered by a friend. He was talking to a group of nuns in Italian about not getting discouraged ... but instead of the verb "scoraggiare", he used "scoreggiare."
Which is the profane way of saying "to fart." At least yours wasn't that bad.
PS I read with delight your interest of the Laocoon. I hope you know or will research the history of its discovery (both medieval & modern) because I think it's fascinating.
So glad to hear you're having a great time. Ciao bellissimo!
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