April 10, 2012
Man bags are everywhere in Sicily, as common as women’s purses.
And so I bought a borsello for my American husband, who gave it the evil eye for about six months. But he broke down one day in Italy, put it on, and soon became so attached to it that he never takes it off. (Perfect fit for the iPad.)
A few weeks ago we ventured into Texas, land of oversized flags, massive vehicles, and cities strangled and mangled by highways. Serious culture shock ensued. For lovers of robust Italianate coffees, being in Texas is like being in the desert with no water.
Desperate, we stood in line at McDonald’s–seemingly the only place in the Lone Star state that you can get anything darker than dishwater (yes, McDonald’s now serves espresso).
My husband visited the loo, Italian borsello over his shoulder. As he was washing his hands, a beefy Texan in worn Wranglers sauntered in.
Spying my husband, the Texan jumped back. “Shoot!” he exclaimed, “Ya scared me fer a minute there! When Ah saw yer purse Ah thought Ah was in the ladies’ room!”