A small group of Italian men stopped me as I was about to cross the street on my bike today:
Italian: Escuse, could you give me some directiones?
Me: Sure, of course. Where would you like to go?
Italian: We are looking for the place that sells boobs.
Me: Pardon? Boobs?
Italians: Yes, yes. The street that has lots of places selling boobs.
Me: Well the Red Light District and is on the other side of this square, to the left. But, seeing as it's 4pm on a Sunday afternoon, it may be a bit dead.
Italian: Do they sell flowers there too?
Me: No, I don't think so...they probably should actually. That's a nice idea.
Italian: Ah...so do they sell pots there too?
Me: Pot? Yea, loads! There are coffee shops on every corner.
Italian: Gratzi. I want to get some for my grandmother in Italy.
Me: Are you sure we're talking about the same thing?
Italian's friend finally stops laughing and says: Yes, we are looking for the flower market. He wants to buy Tulip bulbs, flowers and pots for his grandmother.
What has this city done to me?