Just thinking

When my sister came to visit me in November in Rome, she and I went to "fouri i muri" (outside the walls...IN ITALIAN. GOD. I AM SO CULTURED IT MIGHT KILL ME) to see what was there. Aside from many fields over catacombs and none of the giant man-sized cobblestones we were looking for, there were miles upon miles of crazy Roman-driven cars hell-bent on killing every tourist alive and lots of little churches where miracles had happened. And there were no buses.

There was one church in particular that we stopped to see outside of one of the fields where we were run over by a herd of sheep. No joke. If you see some pictures of sheep on my computer, then you know where they came from. In this church, it was reputed that there was a stone someone had brought of Jesus' footbrints imprinted onto a stone slab. We walked around this miniscule church looking for some footprints, ethereal or otherwise. There were none to be had. So, since I was feeling pretty confident that day, I figured I'd ask (in Italian) some of the (Italian) construction workers outside where one could find Jesus' footprints.

So I sauntered over to the construction workers, all smooth, cool, and whatnot, and proceeded to barf my small Italian vocabulary all over their very Italian ears. In the middle of my rant, while serenading them with my shrill voice, I realized I did not have the slightest idea how to say footprints. But there was no turning back now. So I finished with:

"Where are Jesus' shoes?"

Like

"Where are those awesome Nike Air Dunks of Jesus all those people came to see throughout thousands of years? And more importantly, are they on sale?"

So they just started to laugh. And laugh.

Geez, Spanish essays stink.