"Do you know what 'shit' means, Auntie Edna?" one boy asked.
"I know only what it is I want to know," she answered haughtily, which I suspect wasn't true at all, but was a pretty good answer nonetheless.
Later, in high school, I studied French, because I loved listening to French people talk, and had visions of myself ordering croissants and cafe au lait in Paris. Sadly, I discovered very quickly that I sucked at French, too. And - unlike my forced study of Hebrew - I really, really wanted to learn French. I studied really hard. I read the books and listened to the tapes and practiced every day. Once I left school I studied French at uni, and once I left uni I studied French at the Alliance Francaise, just for fun. And now, after all that work, I can order croissants and cafe au lait. But I still can't book a hotel room in French or order a taxi or understand a word of SBS Friday night porn. I really am just a cultural Fail.
|The top line says 'Kerri Sackville' in Italian|
I received a couple of copies of the book, which means I have one to giveaway. So if you speak Italian, or you know someone who speaks Italian who would like a copy of my fabulous and hilarious memoir, leave a comment below and I will choose the best and most deserving to win.
Ciao, mes amis. Or something like that....