Since I’ve already confessed one sin this week, might as well set the whole table. I like stuff. Stuff from…restaurants. And hotels. I like creamers and ashtrays and swizzle sticks.
I like coffee cups. That one, over there? It may or may not have found its way out of my brother-in-law’s rehearsal dinner in Falun, Sweden. It may or may not have slipped into this country wrapped in dirty jeans and a Frommer’s guide. I’m just saying that it’s here, and I enjoy it. I like holding its steamy goodness with two hands and repeating my java mantra: mellanmork, morkrost, lof-berg lila. Want some coffee, Greg? Mellanmork, morkrost, lof-berg lila. Okay – I’ll make more. Mellanmork…
And since you no longer respect me now anyway, let me add that I enjoy the company of several butter plates, wine menus, lobster bibs and one ceramic pitcher that my brother-in-law may or may not have ‘borrowed’ from my own rehearsal dinner.
Our dinner was at a Chicago tapas place – one minute the pitcher was full of sangria, the next it was in my kitchen. I know nothing.
Now I know my readers and I’m not pointing any fingers, exactly, but you just happen to be a bunch of big-time coveters. And it’s come to my attention that other artful dodgers may exist. So what is it – what’s that thing you had to have? What treasured memento…um…followed you home?