...until you realize that you should only BUY as many groceries as you can CARRY the 8 blocks home, uphill. (Not like driving to Costco and loading up on 2 weeks' worth of gourmet goodies!) Getting by without a car is one of the largest adjustments we suburbanites have to make here.
...until you find yourself in a crisis, and all your carefully-learned Italian vocabulary goes *right* out of your memory, to be replaced by [!shudder!] German, which you learned first.
...until you're sitting in the chair in the Parrucchiere where their English is even worse than your Italian. And then you realize the woman with the scissors in her hand, inches from your head, has her *own* ideas about how you should do your hair....and they're nothing like yours (snip snip).
...until you get called into the Questura to be interviewed for your Permesso di Soggiorno (Permission to Remain in Country), and they take so many types of finger-prints, palm-prints, and (one suspects) bio-metric scans, you realize you're now in some Interpol Database. Forever. (Kind of like that ink, that's never going to come off no matter how many times you wash your hands.)
...until you run out of something crucial, like Tylenol PM, and find that you can't even buy it here in la Farmacia. But --cheer up!-- that you CAN buy things over-the-counter that would otherwise be carefully controlled in the dear old US of A...
