O's story of the cappotto bianco

(as told to author last night over impromptù cena, paraphrased/translated/butchered here)

Ahh, che bella Roma, I remember going to Rome with my aunts and my mother when I was young, and we were near Piazza di Spagna, in the street with all the beautiful shops like Via della Spiga in Milan. Everything costs less there, you know, less than in Milan. Anyways I was already cicciotella, a little chubby with glasses and brufoli, it couldn't get any worse. And my aunts bought me this white coat. But you don't understand, in Rome the white coat looks beautiful, everyone goes around in white or camel or some other light color, but the minute you take it back to Milan it turns gray and brown and disgusting with the smog. And the smog back then wasn't the like the smog now, there weren't all these controls. You went outside and the air was yellow, and after a moment your white coat was no longer white. So ridiculous, a white coat. And I looked ridiculous, wearing this thing, already chubby and this white coat with a belt not helping. After two weeks it was a disaster. And I tried to get it dirty. I would rub up against buses, just to ruin the thing once and for all. Che roba, un cappotto bianco. Ahh, but Rome is beautiful.