I guess no one really had a burning desire to take their salt on the road with them. I, myself, can remember more than a few nights out that were ruined because I didn’t have my salt with me. Or if I did have salt, it dropped all over the place.
One date in particular comes to mind. I had rented a limo to take us to the airport, bought her a dozen roses waiting for her with chilled champagne and strawberries, private jet to Paris, reservations at 9 at Le Meurice.
She looked stunning,
I wore a tux.
Everything was perfect until the food arrived.
“How is your dinner?” I asked.
“Needs salt.” She replied.
“No worries.” I reached into my pocket only to find I’d left my salt back at the house. The date went downhill from there. She actually dumped me there at the table and left with a guy who had hand carved, African Blackwood salt and pepper mills.
How’s a guy supposed to compete with that.
You never know when you’ll get to a fine upscale dining establishment only to find they are out of salt.
