Una Moneta Para Cioccolatino !

I was told a wonderful story about my childhood a few hours ago by my mom. The conversation started with Denny's and eating late. Things moved to my story of meeting an really annoying prostitute at a Denny's at 3 a.m. years ago. My "Clown Prostitute" story got a laugh out of my mom and a squirm from my sister obviously weirded out about hearing a prostitute story in a family discussion. So that reminds my mom of a tasty nugget from our youth.

When I was 3 and my sister was just a few months old we were living in Milan Italy because my dad sold giant computers that filled up rooms the size of your living room. Apparently we lived in a very nice neighborhood that had a small park that I used to run around in. Well on the way to this park, was this house that was the de facto place to pick up prostitutes (full circle!) and you know, make use of their services. Everyone knew what this house was and what happened there. Everyone knew these business types were in our neighborhood for one thing. My mom told me of one lady in particular who would always greet us on our way to park. I guess their was no way to avoid your friendly neighborhood whore house.

My mom said she would greet her a few times a week until one day she stopped us one day to talk. Ever the cordial women (and never one to turn down a conversation with ANYONE) my mom talked to her for a few minutes. She asked the name of my sister and I, and commented on how nice looking kid we were.(Editor's Note: Very true) Then she gave me some coins for a little chocolate candy bar.

"Una Moneta Para Cioccolatino"

My mom said goodbye and I probably wasn't paying attention, excited about the chocolate bar prospects that lay ahead for me. At the park everyone asked my mom why she was talking to "that girl" as they put it (in Italian)

"She said hello and started talking to me, whats the big deal?"

"Don't you know she is a whore who waits their to be picked up everyday!"

They busted my mom's chops and she feels they looked down upon her after that. When she would sense attitude later on she told me she'd mutter a certain phrase under her breath in Italian. I ask:

"What does that phrase mean"

"It doesn't translate"

"Come on, it's gotta be something close in English"

"Well...Stupid Bitch is pretty close to it"

My mom is awesome.

There you have it. A prostitute gave me money for candy when I was three.

Fin.