My sister's a P*ttana

It's beach season! Despite generous lathering of waterproof 50spf and keeping to the shade as much as possible, I still managed to get a bit pink. Don't judge until you've tried surviving a sunny day at 105+ degrees F (40+ C).

It was an especially fun day though because AmoreMio's cousin and her children were able to join us. (They don't live in Caltanissetta, so visits with them are relatively rare).

To top it off, her little 2-year-old boy made me feel better about some of the stupid mistakes I make in Italian.

He's only just starting to get comfortable with speaking in public (aka people other than Mom and Dad), so mostly we play the "Name-That-Relative" game, in which we take turns pointing at the numerous aunts/uncles/cousins present at any given gathering and quiz him on who they are.

Chi e' quello? Il Zio Carmello!

Chi e' questa? La cugina Giulia!

I love this game mostly because it's a good refresher for me as well.

It's a good idea really, get the younger generation practicing all 56 names from a  young age, so it comes more naturally to them when they're older.

Wish I'd had that kind of training.

Usually we start with the easiest ones: his immediate family.

Chi e' questa? La Mamma!

E quello? Il Papa'!

But when we pointed to his sister and once again asked "Who is that?", he floored us with this little gem:

It's Chiara, la p*ttana.

Jaws dropped. His mother stared in horror.

 "He didn't learn that from me!" she insisted, as we all looked at the little boy perplexedly.

In kinder words, he'd essentially just called his sister a prostitute.

Within a few incredibly awkward moments, in which everyone tried to imagine why a 2-year-old would associate that word with his sister, the mother gave a little gasp of understanding.

"Polpettona! He means polpettona! Not... that other word."

Apparently this is one of the family's pet names for the sister, a plump little 4-year-old, which literally translated means "big meatball"... though it's much more endearing in Italian, I promise.

So between the complex pronunciation (for a 2-year-old) and the garbled accent of baby speech, "Polpettona" had changed on it's way out of his cute little mouth, until it more closely resembled a concerned call to social services.

Now doesn't that put my whole "Fico" fiasco into perspective?

At least I didn't call the fig a prostitute... not quite, anyway.