After Nathan and I got married, we took this very dreamy and romantic honeymoon trip to Europe. The first stop on this romantic journey was a small city in Southern Italy right on the coast called Tropea.
We arrived there at about 10 pm after traveling for approximately seventeen million hours. When we got to our hotel, we were more than a little troubled to discover that they didn't so much speak the English. And our knowledge of Italian allowed us to ask where the bathroom was (which was actually kind of helpful) and count to 10 (less than helpful).
Through lots of signs some very broken English and even more broken Italian, we managed to find our way to our room where we collapsed.
And thus began what was maybe the most wonderful and intensely frustrating week. The food was delicious, but it took us like three hours to order because we would spend so much time with our Italian to English dictionary trying to figure out what exactly we were ordering.
And sometimes we got it wrong.
So very wrong.
Things were made more complex by the fact that the dialect spoken in this region of Italy wasn't exactly the same as the dialect used in bigger cities, like Rome.
Recently I came to a realization about Quinn.
