Funny Stories

On Sunday Ronny, Joe, and I decided to get out of the house and go play bacchi. Back home you may know this game as bacchi ball. I've been told here in Europe adding "ball" to "bacchi" is superfluous and a very typical American thing to do. Armed with this knowledge and our 6 euros multi-color plastic bocce set, we drove to a bocce court. Yeah, it's that serious here. When we arrived we immediately felt out of place. The court was full and everyone had fancy metal balls. They were doing much more than rolling balls down the court. There was tactic and special throws that are used to land perfectly on top of an opponents ball. One lady even had a special magnet device so she didn't have to bend over to pick up her ball! It was impressive. And yet here we were with our plastic set that has water in it for weight. After three games, someone got on an intercom and started talking to the various bocce lanes in French. Suddenly, we wondered "Do you have to pay to play bocce here?" We had just walked onto the court. We had enough! The stares, the inferiority complex, and now French! We ended up going to the CERN Rugby field where no one could judge us. I won.

The other funny story happened yesterday. I was trying to figure out what to eat for lunch because I'm not a huge fan of sandwiches. I decided to have some bread with peanut butter on it. Let's not talk about how that isn't really lunch, and how it's sad and pathetic. Anyways, I get the jar of peanut butter out, spread, and eat. It's really good and yet really familiar. It's not familiar as peanut butter though. Because it's not peanut butter. It might look like it, have the same consistency, and even be in the aisle next to the jelly, but this is not peanut butter. It is the "butter" of a cookie (or biscuit). Poor Ronny has been making PBJ sandwiches with it wondering why it doesn't taste quite right. It was an "Ah Ha" moment that was really kind of sad.