And then you make that look with your eyes….

I was heading to a meeting this morning with Fru Fru Pants, Road Husband and I’ll Call You Later. Fru Fru Pants and I were in the backseat and our request for specialty coffee drinks at our favorite drive-thru cafe was being obliged. The barista came out to take our order and, noticing Road Husband was unsure of what we wanted, I rolled down my window and placed the order (actually, the barista recognized us, so he just confirmed our regular drinks). I then apologized to the barista advising him our new driver doesn’t have our routine down yet. As we pulled up to the window to retrieve heaven in a cup, barista asked what we were doing today. None of us regularly or irregularly announce our employment, so I told him we were meeting with our attorneys to discuss our trust funds. We then rode off into the sunset, aka, live traffic.

Later, in Italian class, That’s Not Italian was asking all of us how many hours we worked each day. Wanting to be consistent, because you never know who might know your barista, I told Alice we should say we don’t work, rather, we are now trust funders (business is dead at the morgue). Not wanting to get asked a lot of questions, primarily because I never do well when being interrogated in another language, we fabricated our daily work hours. Devaro (wow – and then you make that look with your eyes…you know the one)!

Things got personal real quick when That’s Not Italian asked each of us if we had children or pets. Some did, some didn’t. Most had a cane (dog) or two. I didn’t mention No Action Jaxon – I had no idea how to say foster dog in Italian. Cane Bastardo? Overachiever started going on and on about her cane, who is a Pit Bull called Dino. That’s Not Italian did not like that she owned a Pit Bull, looked at me and said, “They’re scary, no?” I replied, “They’re kind of ugly.” It was at that moment when Alice and I both realized I was talking about the cane and his owners. We’ve all seen the email with pictures of owners who look like their dogs. And, no, I don’t look like No Action Jaxon. I’m merely a foster dogma.

As class progressed it was obvious Overachiever and her boyfriend, Not A Good Chef, were going to test our pazienza (patience).  We were going around the room discussing what we ate for colazione (breakfast), pranzo (lunch) and cena (dinner); Overachiever was having a really hard time waiting her turn. Luckily, Quattro Espressos (Bombshell McGee’s boyfriend and what he had for colazione) had a lot to eat and drink, so Overachiever had to wait. Not A Good Chef told everyone he woke up at three AM and ate breakfast for five hours. I asked him if he hit the “spices” first. He didn’t get it – he was not pickin’ up what I was layin’ down (wonder how that translates). Alice and I looked up “marijuana” and “weed” in our Italian Pocket Dictionary and found a translation for weeds and weed killer, diserbante, but not for killer weed. I later checked a more current (2006) dictionary and found the true translation: marijuana. Huh, a lot of people speak Italian and don’t even know it.

While others were desperately trying to share their dining details with the class I started wondering why all of the other students decided to learn Italian. Were they, too, hoping to meet a hula hooping Italian? Or, were they just interested in meeting with a group of strangers each week and attempting to speak a foreign language only to leave class not knowing what they said, what everyone else had for colazione and whether or not they had a cane or figli (children)? Probably the latter.