I was in Florence, Italy on my honeymoon. We had rented a flat which had a nice kitchen and a wonderful view overlooking the Piazza della Repubblicca. I wanted to cook our dinner one night instead of eating out – chicken piccata.  I found this really small butcher shop run by a elderly husband and wife team. Without reading any of the labels on the cuts of meat on display, I instead brandished my trusty English-Italian dictionary and worked out how to ask for “Two chicken breasts please” – due seno di pollo. The old lady immediately bursts into a howling guffaw, and the old man turns beet red and looks very angry.  He storms out from around the counter and angrily points into the display case in the area of the chicken and affirms, “petti di pollo, PETTI di pollo!” The old woman quiets down and her husband storms off into the back of the shop.  She starts bagging the chicken, still looking very amused.  I’m confused but I count out some money and put it down beside the cash register.  She places he bagged chicken before me and rings me up.  Before I leave, She leans over the counter and while looking directly into my eyes, cups both of her generous bosoms with a rubbing motion, gives me a wink, and slowly whispers, “Senoooo.” It was at that moment the penny finally drops.

I had asked for, “two chicken boobs please.”

I gave the old bird a laugh and walked out feeling a little violated.