There is (of course) a story behind the salt shaker on my kitchen counter.
It was an unintentional wedding gift, given to me on my wedding night inside a carton of french fries.
After our wedding was through, and the band had packed up, and nearly every guest had been carried away by pumpkin at midnight, Joe and I looked around the ski lodge where our reception had just taken place in a stardust swirl of bliss and we realized, we had no ride back to our hotel.
My cousin Cory and his wife Krystle, always the last to leave a party, were still milling around as we packed up leftover favors and the last of my mother’s centerpieces.
They offered to drive us in their Hummer.
So, around midnight we piled into our off-road chariot and set about a short ride to the hotel.
I was starving.