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Che culo hai!! What a butt you have!

Welcome to Italy, a country where it’s perfectly acceptable and normal to talk about someone’s butt, and in many cases, how big it is.

The first time someone in Italy said the above to me, I was at a momentary loss for words. I wasn’t sure how to respond because I had no idea what they had meant. You see, I do have a big butt. I’ve received a few remarks (good/bad) in the past and it doesn’t really bother me. But, with the way Italians easily talk about the weight and figures of others, I was ready for any explanation or even to hear their advice about getting a figure pi� snella.

But not this time.

When someone tells you, Che culo hai! or shorter still, Che culo!, they are not remarking on the perfect status of your posterior (which happens a lot to me *cough*), instead, it is a way of saying, “You’re lucky!” or “What luck/fortune!” or “Things are working for you!”

Some real-life (mine) examples:
Che culo!: You try to get tickets to the womens’ gymnastics event at the Commonwealth Games and of course, they are all sold out. Instead you “settle” for the mens’ gymnastics event, and but lo and behold, so has the Queen of England, who is escorted in after you choose your seat and is less than 20 feet behind you in the stands. Che culo!

Che culo!: Your friend knows the Italian drummer for the Gipsy Kings and they just happen to be having a concert in Chicago the weekend you’re there. Though the concert is completely sold out, he gets you and your friends 3rd row seats and backstage passes! Che culo!

Unfortunately, as well as all the times when you really do have good luck, there are many times you experience what I like to call “False culo” (look for it on Wikipedia! Ok, no, don’t)

Let me give you a few examples….

Apparent culo: You slip in to the Questura to file your paperwork, not having prepared any of the requirements, but manage to fulfill them all in one hour and gain special access to the Questura for acceptance.
False culo: The office loses your paperwork (and denies it!) after 4 months.

Apparent culo: You arrive at the far-away postal warehouse on your bike, 2 minutes before it closes, 30 minutes before you thought it closed, and are set to retrieve your packages. You discover they weigh a whopping 22lbs and there’s no way they will balance in your pitiful green wire basket on the front of your bike. The man working at the counter takes pity on you and your bicycle and long distance and offers to deliver them to your house in the early afternoon.
False culo: You wait for seven hours at the house, missing a beautiful day full and sunshine (and shopping!) and he doesn’t show up. Now the Post Office has a slip signed by you saying you’ve picked up the packages. You have no name or contact information. You also realize you’re an idiot. You hope he enjoys used English novels.

Apparent culo: You wake up on a lazy Sunday but just make it in time to get the bus to the out-of-town mega-supermarket for the weekly shopping. No ticket controllers come on the bus, which is good since you realize after you get on that you have no tickets and there are no open ticket sellers for miles.
False culo: Your bus ride is calm and very quiet. Too quiet. You arrive at the vast shopping complex and its empty, vacant, tumbleweed-rolling-in-the-background parking lot. It’s not open this Sunday, even if it’s been open for the last 14 in a row.
False culo turned real culo: After returning home, checking the internet and grumbling and bemoaning the fact we now have to go to the other side of the city to the open supermarket, we get a buzz on the intercom - it’s the friendly postman who has arrived with my packages. On a Sunday!

What about you? What are your “Che Culo” moments??