It was 9:15am and, in her apparent commitment to extinguishing all trace of her wedding dress diet/general health and well-being, Bec had just finished her first gelato for the day. The following conversation then took place.
Bec: Let’s go to the beach. We’re in Amalfi, let’s go to the beach.
Bec: Let’s get some beach chairs.
Bec: There’s a man with some beach chairs for rent. Let’s rent some beach chairs from him.
Matt: I think it’s a scam.
Bec: Why do you think it’s a scam?
Matt: Because beach chairs should be free.
Bec: Why should they be free?
Matt: Because it’s a beach. Beaches should be free.
Bec: But someone has to pack up the chairs and clean them and things.
Beach Chair Man: You want chair?
Beach Chair Man: Excuse me?
Beach Chair Man: Do you speak English?
Matt: I’m speaking Italian.
Beach Chair Man: No, you’re speaking Spanish.
Matt: Me parlo Italiano.
Beach Chair Man: Vuoi una sedia? Sono dieci Euro.
Matt: I don’t understand.
Beach Chair Man: The chairs are ten Euro.
Matt: That’s a lot for a chair.
Bec: Darling! Just get the chairs.
Beach Chair Man: It is ten Euro for two chairs. And you can use the toilet and the showers as well.
Bec: Let’s go sit over there.
Matt: OK. I’m going to go to the toilet.
Bec: Hey, so, before you go, can I see your birth certificate? You just went to the toilet in the hotel. I want to be sure I haven’t married a three-year-old.
Matt: I have to go again.
*Two minutes later*
Matt: I’m back.
Bec: What’s that wet patch on the front of your shorts?
Bec: Is that wee?
Bec: Are you not wearing any underwear?
Matt: Look, the man is coming.
Bec: What man?
Matt: The Beach Chair Man. He’s holding a piece of paper.
Beach Chair Man: Here you go. For you.
Matt: Is this a receipt for the chairs?
Bec: It’s a fine for weeing on your shorts.