La Signora

At least the dogs think something to me ...

At least the dogs think something to me …

I spent a long time last night taking my sprayer to pieces and cleaning all the little bits, but so as not to go the same way as yesterday, I phoned the family-run business where I bought it years ago.

As usual, they recognised my voice. (And advised me to use hot water to mix the ingredients, which worked.)

Is my speech that distinctive, though? Everyone always recognises my voice. I can never be anonymous even if I want to be.

There are few foreigners in this part of Italy, it’s true, and my accent starts peeping through after the first greeting or so. Also I have a slight lisp.

You’d perhaps expect people to know me by name – Damaris, or Signora West. But no-one can cope with either my first name (mangled variously as Daminus or Daramis if they even make the effort) or my surname because ‘w’ in Italian is virtually non-existent.

So who am I? I’m LA SIGNORA!! (The lady.)

(Add the epithet English, American, Dutch or German as the fancy takes you because people often mistake my nationality.)

Even Clive fairs better than me – probably because he’s less tolerant.

So ‘la signora’ phoned; ‘la signora’ will do it; give it to ‘la signora’.

People call out to me: “Signora!” Even people I’ve known for years have no other way of addressing me.

Ah well. The dogs think something to me. My smell, mainly …

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