If the man wasn't so terribly vehement about it, he'd be tempted to chuckle about the salami comment. It's a rather amusing mental picture. However, just as he found nothing amusing about the gown, he gets the sense there's nothing light in what he says.

His expression shifts prim. "Such an uncomfortable fabric. Very stiff. Now, I don't mind a touch of tartan, mind you. It can add a bit of flavour to an otherwise bland ensemble." He feels this way about his tie. Such a pity it's not on him.

"Oh, dear. That is potentially the worst news I've heard all day. I shall be terribly cross if my clothing isn't waiting for me in the condition it was when I was wearing it. I have a very nice waistcoat, a lovely velvet. I don't want to replace it. If another like it isn't to be found..." He sniffs. He won't conjure it. He won't. He has standards.

"But...you have found them?"