La giacca

"Ti sei tolto la giacca," says the bakery lady (baker... bakeress? boh.) at the little bakery where I go pretty much every morning for a nice little fresh roll.

I glance down, and remember that I did indeed choose to leave my jacket at home today, electing to walk to school in just jeans and a sweater. It's a good 60 degrees out, though, so I don't really feel that it will be a problem, even though i Reggiani are still all bundled up in their scarves and whatever else.

I nod and smile stupidly, unprepared for this exchange and thus unable to formulate an appropriately friendly/humorous response.

"Non dovevi," she continues, "I took my jacket off when I went for a walk yesterday evening, and now I have the sniffles. See?" she turns away to blow her nose. The other bakery lady nods sympathetically.

"Infatti," she says.

I continue my idiot nodding and smiling routine.

"You have to wait another few weeks, okay?" the first bakery lady counsels me, handing me my receipt. What's great about these two ladies is that despite my continued inability to converse like a normal person during these sorts of brief exchanges at the cash register, they still always chat with me. I wish there were a non-awkward way of thanking them for their patience.

"Si, forse è meglio," I agree, finally managing to mumble a semi-intelligible sentence. "Grazie, buona giornata!" I rally, because this is my stock phrase for people in stores (or anyone, really) and I am totally brilliant at saying it by now. (Um, not that it's in any way difficult, but whatever.)

"Anche a te!" they smile back at me. "Remember - put on your jacket!"

Aw. You know that stereotype of Europe where people go in the same little shops to buy their food every day and eventually they are friends with the people in the little shops and they ask after each other's families and all that kind of thing? It feels kind of like that.

The next time I go to the bakery, I wear my jacket.