My sister was at her hairdresser's getting her hair done for a trip to Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded " Rome ? Why would anyone want to go there? It's crowded, hot and dirty. You're crazy to go to Rome . So, how are you getting there?"
"We're flying Alitalia," replied my sister "We got a great rate!"
"Alitalia?" exclaimed the hairdresser. That's a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they're always late. So, where are you staying in Rome ?"
"We'll be at this exclusive little place over on the Tiber River called Teste."
"Say no more. I know that place. Everybody thinks it’s going to be something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump and the river stinks."
"We're going to go to see the Vatican and maybe get to see the Pope."
"No chance," laughed the hairdresser. “You and a million other people trying to see him. He'll look the size of an ant. Well, good luck on this rubbish trip of yours. You're going to need it."
A month or so later, my sister again went in for a hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.
My sister’s a bit of a bitch, but when you’re at the hairdresser you talk, apparently. "It was wonderful," she explained, "not only were we on time in one of Alitalia’s brand new 777s, but it was overbooked, and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot.
And the hotel was great! They'd just finished a €5 million remodelling job, and now it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their Berlusconi suite at no extra charge!"
"Well," muttered the hairdresser, "that's all well and good, but I know you didn't get to see the Pope."
"Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained that the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me."
"Oh, really! What'd he say ?"
He said: "Who f***ed up your hair like that?"
"We're flying Alitalia," replied my sister "We got a great rate!"
"Alitalia?" exclaimed the hairdresser. That's a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they're always late. So, where are you staying in Rome ?"
"We'll be at this exclusive little place over on the Tiber River called Teste."
"Say no more. I know that place. Everybody thinks it’s going to be something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump and the river stinks."
"We're going to go to see the Vatican and maybe get to see the Pope."
"No chance," laughed the hairdresser. “You and a million other people trying to see him. He'll look the size of an ant. Well, good luck on this rubbish trip of yours. You're going to need it."
A month or so later, my sister again went in for a hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.
My sister’s a bit of a bitch, but when you’re at the hairdresser you talk, apparently. "It was wonderful," she explained, "not only were we on time in one of Alitalia’s brand new 777s, but it was overbooked, and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot.
And the hotel was great! They'd just finished a €5 million remodelling job, and now it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their Berlusconi suite at no extra charge!"
"Well," muttered the hairdresser, "that's all well and good, but I know you didn't get to see the Pope."
"Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained that the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me."
"Oh, really! What'd he say ?"
He said: "Who f***ed up your hair like that?"
