Yo Mamma.

Although I’m not proud of it, a small interaction I had the other night is really too amusing not to share.

Upon maturely deciding that enough was enough on a night out last week, myself and my two accomplices hopped into a cab and zig-zagged our way home for 10 euros.

I hand the driver a 20. He tries to give me 1 euro back.

Aaaabitch please. This city is infamous for trying to swindle its tourists, and I’m not having it. So, I simply say: NO.

We discuss this, somewhat heatedly, for a few moments and finally (thanks to my liquid courage) he gives me the appropriate change. I muster up my sweetest smile: Grazie.

- Puttana.

Wham! Just like that, with one under-his-breath mutter, he hits me with the only dirty word I know in Italian. Now, under normal circumstances, it’s hard for me to keep my mouth shut, to take the high road. Factor in the aforementioned ‘liquid’ courage, and I’ll keep my cool but you’ve got a little bit of trouble.

Let’s just say, things only got uglier when I politely asked him if he’s used to saying that to his mama. I’m rather grateful that we managed to drown out the sounds of his other curses with our laughter and the unmistakable pitter-patter of high heels on stone. We ran all the way home.

Well inappropriate Italian man: consider your achilles heel identified and out in the open. If you’re not careful with your words next time, I won’t wait for your mama, I will be washing your mouth out with soap myself.

Advertisement