A Story about Barbeque Sauce

I have a story about BBQ sauce. Ready?

One of the worst things about moving into a new place, especially from so far away, is that there's no food in the house when you get there. In fact, there's nothing in the house. We were fortunate to have D's parents on the East Coast for a wedding the same week that we moved in, and to have Costco right around the corner. Hooray Costco.

I couldn't go on the run because I had a job interview. I was a bummed I had to miss it - who doesn't love free samples - and I didn't know exactly what D was going to come back with. In true D fashion, we are now fully stocked with cleaning supplies. It wasn't all bad though. We have a full year's worth of pasta and sauce, craisins (yay!), and bottled water, among other edible things.

I opened the fridge one night as I was trying to figure out what to make for dinner. Contents of the fridge: 6 bell peppers, 3 English cucumbers, 1,00,000 bottles of water, 1 loaf wheat bread, 1 bottle BBQ sauce. I closed the fridge and made pasta.

On Sunday night we were driving back from Rhode Island when it struck me: BBQ sauce. BBQ sauce? WTF? So I asked D what the heck he was thinking when he chose, out of all the condiments, out of all the choices, BBQ sauce. 2 enormous bottles of BBQ sauce that will take us 17 years to go through. Why not ketchup? Why not mustard? We actually eat those things.

So we're driving along, having a laugh about BBQ sauce when we miss our exit on the highway and head mistakenly toward end-of-a-long-weekend traffic into Manhattan. Bad idea. Luckily, our trusty GPS managed to save us (again!) and we headed home to our BBQ sauce. The end.

Moral of the story: buy a GPS.