EXTRA CREDIT
The next time your boyfriend compares you to his mother, you may want to counter with:
COSA PENSEREBBE MAMMINA?
“But what would Mommy think?”
TUA MADRE È UNA PUTTANA.
“Your mother’s a whore.”
FATTI STIRARE QUESTO!
“Have your mother iron this!”
You’re late to meet some friends at a café, and you just can’t figure out which piazza you’re standing in (why do they all have to look the same, anyway?). While unfolding your unwieldy street map, you accidentally bump into a pervert sitting on some steps ogling a group of teenage girls by the fountain. And so the gesticulation war begins. . .after muttering something you’re pretty sure wasn’t very nice, he rolls his eyes at you in disgust. You shrug your shoulders in apology. He shakes his head. You thumb your nose. He flicks you the bird. And you blank. The only remaining option you can think of is to moon him—and that definitely ain’t happening after all of yesterday’s zeppoles! You really want to be the bigger person, because deep down you know who you’re dealing with here—some lonely loser who should be spending his time in anger management classes, not sitting in public places being pervy. But you can’t help yourself. Your friends will just have to wait.
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