Italian espresso...or not?

I have some very Italian friends. They're very Italian, and they're very much my friends. My very good friend Sharon, in particular, became very Italian, when she married an extremely Italian man. A man by the name of Franco--otherwise known as Frank. She became very Italian, but she's not extremely Italian...yet.

The evidence that she isn't extremely Italian yet is this:
Frank doesn't like the espresso she bought the other day. Apparently, the brand of espresso they usually buy at the local grocery store was discontinued. So she just grabbed a different, comparably inexpensive, container of self-declared "Italian espresso." When she brought it home, Frank did not approve. Said he didn't like that kind. If you're a regular espresso drinker (which she isn't) or extremely Italian, this mix-up doesn't occur.

Sharon and I went shopping today after the special memorial Mass at St. John's. We stopped at a store where she thought they might still sell the right brand. "But he drank the other stuff this morning, and didn't say anything, so I don't know...," Sharon thought out loud while she combed the shelves for an approved brand. She ended up finding it, so she bought it. "I don't know what we're going to do with that other one," she said. "Maybe I'll just switch it to this container!"

So while I'm hanging out at their house later today, drinking "American decaf," (I've learned to label it fully!) Frank comes home. "I'm going to make some espresso," he announces. "Would you like some?"
"No, thanks," I reply. "Your wife and I are drinking American decaf and hanging out."
After retreiving all the espresso-making paraphanalia, we hear Frank's voice from the kitchen, "Honey, what's this?"
Knowing that he's referring to the impersonification of "Italian espresso," Sharon replies, "Remember, it's that stuff I bought because they were out of the right kind...."
"Oh, yeah," Frank remembers. "Wait, is this the kind I made this morning?"
"Maybe,..." Sharon hesitates.
"Yeah, I didn't like it. Didn't taste good at all."
"Oh. Well, I found the right kind today. But maybe you can offer it up until this stuff is gone," his virtuous wife replies.

At which point, I volunteer to take the "wrong" kind off their hands. I don't know what will happen to me as I continue to spend so much time with these very Italian friends, but...

I'm not even close to Italian...yet!