
I am an avid re-teller of the same stories, which makes it very dangerous to travel with me, since anything that happens on our trip is liable to be told a thousand times to anyone who will listen. One of these stories will certainly be about the time Sam and I went to Italy and ate at a restaurant where they shaved the prosciutto right of the leg of the pig with the hoof still attached. It was both thrilling and gruesome, but it was more than anything delicious. While it was happening I was picturing myself retelling this story, so here I am, about ten retellings in, a grandmother in my own right.
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