"Thank you, Frasier. I see you've already ordered my favourite coffee."
I smile at him as he, my brother, gracefully sits down.The waitress comes up to our table, with a plate full of
biscotti.
"This is from us at the Cafe Nervosa. It's just a little something to thank you two for coming here," she
eloquently stated.
We thanked the kind waitress for the biscotti.
"Frasier, how would you describe a piece a prose as?" Niles asks me, his eyes twinkling with joy.
"It depends on the prose. Who's prose are you talking about?" I ask him, after reaching for a mocha chocolate
biscotti.
"F. Scott Fitzgerald!" Niles giggled gleefully. I gesture with my hands.
"And you intend to describe him as...?" I urge Niles to continue.
"Gorgeous!" Niles exclaimed.
"Are you referring to his physiognomy, or his elegant prose?"
Niles took a sip of his latte and replied, "Obviously, both, but I personally think Fitzgerald's prose is gorgeous."
I gathered my thoughts for a second.
"I do admit, his prose is very elegant and pretty. Perhaps 'gorgeous' is not far from the truth," I tell him.
"Frasier, you seriously need to read Fitzgerald again."
I smile back at him.
"Don't worry, Niles, I will."
Niles bit off a piece of biscotti.
"He was quite witty and dandy, wasn't he?"
"Not quite as witty as Wilde, though," I reply.
"But dandy?" Niles pressed.
"Niles, of course he was a dandy! Even amongst American men, Brooks Brothers attired men were most likely
one," I sip my latte and smile.
"Remember when we used to wear plaid to school? Oh, those bullies had a field day!" Niles reminisced.
"They were just too ignorant to appreciate sartorial elegance. Or, perhaps, they were just jealous," I wittily reply
to him.
"Dad said that we are snobby," Niles snickered.
"He is absolutely wrong; we're not snobby," I reply, gently placing my hand on top of his.