Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Gelato or fellatio?

Sarge and I were sitting in a tiny French restaurant on the French Riviera with our favorite traveling partners, the Diva and the Doc. We were in Monaco, to be exact, Monte Carlo, #59 on my Bucket List. It is situated right on the shore with the mountains as its backdrop.

We had already toured the city, which is very small, but very rich. The tiniest apartment costs one million American dollars, but they pay low to no income tax, and cableTV is free. That's why I was flabbergasted that such a rich principality would charge for amenities that we take for granted in America. I went to a bathroom and there was a lady just inside the door selling toilet paper. I looked at her like she was crazy and confused, and proceeded into a stall when I noticed there was not even a toilet paper holder. Then I looked crazy and confused, but doubled back and dropped just a few coins in her cup. Consequently, she handed me just a few panels of Charmin. I thought to myself, I'd better use these wisely.

Anyway, we wanted to try out the few French phrases that we knew. We stumbled upon this quaint little bistro where we ordered a bottle of vin (wine) first. Then we used the French pronunciations on the menu to order our food because, well, English translations were conspicuously absent. We weren't in Kansas, anymore, Toto.

After a lovely meal and the entire bottle of vin, the Diva asked the waitress to bring desert for her brother-by-choice, my husband. She said sweetly, "Could you bring him a bowl of fellatio, please?"
Well, our wisp of a waitress, who spoke only broken English, looked appalled and perplexed, but then, I think, the universality of that word started dawning on her face. We all laughed uncontrollably, but through my laughter and tears, I was able to explain that what she meant to ask for was gelato, which is an Italian ice cream.

The Diva had the wrong country and the wrong desert. And why didn't she ask for a cup of cunnilingus for me?
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