the discreet charm of the bourgeoisie

Coffee with Eliana.
She is looking her best.
Darkly Sicilian.
I venture a compliment.
"That's a lovely scarf."
"Do you like it?"
"Yes. Is it Muslim?"
She jumps to her feet.
All fire and tempest.
"Yes." she cries. "Yes it is a Muslim scarf. And my black leather jacket is a Muslim jacket. And my handbag. Here you see it. It is a Muslim handbag."
Her exit was Shakespearianly Sicilianly spectacular.
All she did was storm out I mean.
But I gotta tell you folks.
Italians are the business.
Even Muslims pretending to be Italians seem to pick up on the passion.
"And to think I never even noticed the Black Jacket," I mused in the stillness after she'd gone.