On the market the other day at the Sicilian stand – Signora Anna whose hair must have chameleon DNA, because it changes colour EVERY week and hubby who looks as if someone’s taken a chainsaw to his nose.
I ASSUME it’s hubby – she’s constantly moaning at him which appears to be par for the course for most of us.
Two ladies standing next to me.
“Ei Hilde, wasissenDES…?” asks one, pointing to the cactus figs.
(“Pray tell me, Hilde, what manner of fruit might these be?”)
“Ei Helga, deswaasichaachnet”
(I’m sorry to tell you, Helga, but I’m stumped,too”)
“Cactus figs”, I say as nonchalantly as I can manage.
“Eiwarumstehtsdennnetdo” they chime unisono
(“Wouldn’t it be good if they had a sign identifying the fruit?”)
Signs on the Sicilian stand.
Fair (i.e. not greater that 30%) chance of their being orthographically accurate if it’s “zucchini” or something Italianate.
Massive liberties taken with anything else.
“But there IS” I say “Right there – fico d’india”
“Eidesissdochidolliänisch” says Helga. Or Hilde.
(“If I’m not very much mistaken, that appears to be Italian!”)
“Learn something new every day, ladies” as I drift off….
Reminded me of Richard Feynmann