The Italian Barber (source: my dad)
“What we do for you today?” asked the barber.
“Oh, just a good trim,” I replied. “I’m going on holiday.”
“Oh?” said the barber. “Where you go?”
“Italy.”
“Italy!” exclaimed the barber. “I from Italy! Where in Italy?”
“Rome.”
“Ah, Roma," he sighed wistfully, continuing my haircut.
“I have an audience with the Pope.”
“You see il Papa??” He turned and shouted upstairs, “Maria! Maria!”
“What?” replied an irritated voice from upstairs.
“Dissa gennelma…