A Stressful Week and a Story About Chicken

This has been one of the worst weeks I have had as a parent. I can't go into massive details now, those of you on my personal Facebook will know the basics, but I was reported for child neglect this week. I will, one day, do a post about how I love our child protection system, it isn't perfect, but it does work. I have been fully cleared, within an hour of me being made aware of the allegation. I am in awe of the work social workers do and how they operate, and have nothing but praise for how we have been managed.

I am not sleeping well as it has kicked off my Post Traumatic Stress Disorder symptoms. One of my protection mechanisms is that when stressed weird things pop into my head, strange memories. This one was a very happy, funny one so I thought I'd share it.

I also have an update on my other blog too. 

Our Sicilian apartment in Letojanni

I was on holiday in Sicily with now hubby and 2 friends. We were staying in an apartment, and I decided to cook dinner, chicken involtini with ricotta insalata, in a tomato sauce served with summer greens and new potatoes.

So Sicilian villages being what they are, full of interesting looking men in black suits, and old ladies with scarves on their heads, I went to the butcher, as supermarkets don't exist. Presumably supermarket owners turn their nose up at paying large bribes, and are all at the bottom of the Mediterannean in concrete boots, but I digress.

View of the Mediterranean from our apartment

So big Sicilian butcher, looking like an Italian version of Con the Fruiterer, we shall call him Bertolli the Butcher, says "bionjourno" in pidgin italian I ask for Pollo. Here we come unstuck. Italian for breast. Not a clue. He points to his legs "no" He flaps his wings (well arms, Bertolli does not have wings) he starts to cluck and scratch his feet all the time talkinig very fast in Sicilian dialect. The shop, which was full of disapproving Sicilan grandmothers, starts to feel very uncomfortable, this weird woman is disrupting their normal Wednesday morning. I shoot apologetic looks and ask for help "English?" nooooo they all shake their heads. 

Me in Aussie Backpacker mode in Sicily

Any way, his head cocked to one side he says with huge grin "Pollo?? Pollo??" With great joy, he grasped his considerable breasts which appeared bigger than mine (those of you who know me will appreciate that this is quite impressive, for a bloke, as I am rather *ahem* gifted in the boobage department) and said "ah these, these" and then started pointing at mine and then in perfect English said "how many chicken breasts would you like".

Two please

The previously Easter Island appearing Greek ladies all start erupting with laughter saying "ha ha she wanted chicken breast"

Surprisingly, there was no camera crew to capture this moment.

Me cooking in our Sicilian kitchen. My next trick was not, sadly to ask for rump steak.

BTW the chicken was delicious. Who knows what they feed Sicilian chickens but the breasts were the size of pterodactyl breasts, and had so much flavour. If you have never been to Sicily I highly recommend the place. But you may want to take a phrase book.