On the 52nd floor of the tallest building in Tokyo Isabella holds her face in her hands in desperation. She tells me that my choice of vocabulary is “brutto” and that I’m speaking Italian like a butcher. I refute her criticism saying that I’m speaking not like a butcher but a New Yorker. She rolls her eyes and adds that this is the first time she has met someone who not only manages to butcher the Italian language but also speak it with the accent of the Spanish ambassador’s wife. I tell her that in that case, I shouldn’t have hired a Sicilian snob for a teacher. This is just another Italian lesson with my teacher Isabella, and a daily occurrence in my life at the moment as I endeavor to learn Italian in two months…..