Hilary is moving to Italy. I don't understand it. I know it's the cradle of western civilization, or Greece is, or whatever. The material difference between Italy and Greece mostly escapes me anyway, but Rome is Awfully Important in a way most places can't approach, and I know that. I think I would not want to live there anyway. But she seems to have her reasons.
Because I like so well how it turned out (with hookers, mocking Italians and Toronto, and a most unseemly reflection on the physical qualities of young Mediterranean women) I reproduce here an exchange from the comments. It's the last paragraph if you want to skip ahead.
Change is evil. That's why you hate it. The solution is Never To Change Any Thing.
And it's a good solution too.
Do they even have tea in Italy? And I understand the place is positively overrun with Italians. It's too awful to contemplate.
I'll never understand you, Miss White.
Well, Mr. Carriere, it certainly has its drawbacks. But you can get tea there, and in the time I have spent thus far, one really does not have to consort with too many Italians.
And they have the sea there. Just like I remember it from back home.
O! the sea, the sea!
Not "too many Italians" she says!
Is that like, not "too many shootings" in Parkdale? Or is it prostitutes? I never know if the singularly germane fact of Parkdale is the shooting or the hookers.
Anyway, all that gold and sweat, isn't consorting with even some Italians quite enough to put you off your biscuits?
The one thing about Italians I find so interesting is their women. Somehow, around the age of thirty-two their supple olive skin, flowing hair, and tantalizing eyes are traded in for a shapeless ankle-length black dress, matching hose, and a mustache; their lithe arms and shapely legs replaced with stumpy limbs suited mainly to stirring spaghetti and wearing sensible shoes.