Being given the paper: or I'm too sexy for my shoulders

Our trip to Murano, Burano and Torcello yesterday allowed me to visit three beautiful lagoon islands that are easily visible from Venice.

It also allowed

1. Nora the opportunity to buy my Christmas gift months in advance: a Murano necklace that she said was somehow "me."

2. us to stop for lunch out, a rare occasion, and enjoy branzino, orata (which, in English seems to be "gilthead bream"), langostines and a nice white wine.

3. us to take tons of pictures that turned out pretty well.

4. me to translate from French to English for Nora that the tower was indeed closed (as I overheard a French tourist ask the person in charge)

Most importantly, however, the trip allowed us to coin and frequently use the phrase, "giving someone the paper."

Etymology
The Basilica di S. Maria Assunta at Torcello is an incredible structure that dates to the 7th century. However, it does require that visitors cover their shoulders. Sort of. Some visitors. Well, me.

As we handed our tickets to the woman, she asked me if I had something for my shoulders. I said no. She handed me a brown papery shawl-like thing, which I draped over myself and continued into the cathedral.

I had been careful of the no-shorts requirement at some religious sites, and I had even asked Nora, who has visited here a lot, whether shorts were a problem. They were not. However, my spaghetti straps were, and so, I was "given the paper."

As we entered, Nora grumbled a bit about how I didn't have to wear it. I said it was fine; following rules is a thing I do well, and actually, the brown papery-thing matched my ensemble, so I was set. As a formerly good Catholic girl who barely pre-dated Vatican II, I willingly accepted my penance.

As we settled down to look at the space, however, we began to notice women in various stages of undress who had not been "given the paper." A loud French woman, fat arms tumbling from her tank top, bra straps akimbo. Another woman with flabby cleavage to her knees, again with bare shoulders and arms. And another. And another.

As Nora seethed and told me to "take the damn thing off," I told her it was okay. Nevertheless, I did begin to question why my clean, neat, cleavage-less top deserved "the paper," while others in seemingly more advanced stages of undress did not.

As has become our habit, we put some money in the offering tin and lit two candles. Because I was still wearing my lovely shawl, Nora was reluctant to give money to light the candles, so I donated for her. I was superstitious enough to believe that it was especially important to light candles here, where I had been "given the paper." And so I did, as we had for the previous three cathedrals and chapels we'd recently visited.

On the vaporetto home, we bided our time watching the sweaty masses on board with us, deciding who, at that point, should be "given the paper." Perhaps the large woman who seemed to have her dress on backwards and whose entire back was exposed, her bra stretched to breaking prominently displayed. The woman whose tank top descended to her navel, who clearly needed a foundation garment of some type. The young woman who thought that the world wanted to hear her voice and see her black thong beneath her tiny white negligee-looking dress. Oy. Yes, we would have given them all "the paper."

We will not discuss the Speedo-wearing men at the Lido, all of whom should be given the paper. Perhaps a canvas tent.

I accepted my paper quietly and with dignity because my shoulders should be covered, so man may exist peacefully next to me, without temptation to sin.