A few nights ago I dreamt that I was back at a cafe in Portugal, ordering pastries and coffee in the early evening. It was the first dream I’ve had in a long while where I was speaking Portuguese, not English. After ordering my milky galao, the sassy-pants barista demanded that I order an aperitif instead of a coffee, on account of the hour of the day. I can’t imagine this ever happening in Portugal. It was as if I were in Italy (where I can imagine this happening) and was reprimanded for ordering a cappuccino too late in the day. Flustered, I did my best to apologize for my huge social blunder.
But then, the nightmare. I couldn’t remember how to say “I’m sorry” in Portuguese. All I could get out of my mouth was “mi dispiache,” which is the Italian.
To make matters more weird, numerous days later (in real life), I still can’t remember what the Portuguese is for “I’m sorry.” I lived there for over 3 years, and all I can think of is the Italian! Granted, the last thing I did before I moved from Portugal back to America was to take a 2-week intermediate Italian class in Florence. But still. I’m troubled. Somebody ajuda me.
(Photo of the lovely Costa da Caparica: Dsevilla)