For as long as I can remember, my father has saved. He saves money, he saves disfigured sticks that resemble disfigured celebrities, and, most of all, he saves food. Cherry tomatoes, sausage biscuits, the olives plucked from other people’s martinis–he hides these things in strange places until they are rotten. And then he eats them.
I used to think of this as standard Greek behavior until I realized that ours was the only car in the church parking lot consistently swarmed by bees.
Sedaris relays stories from his childhood, his drug-addled young adulthood and his years spent living in Paris, skewering his own behavior with a dry humor and stark self-awareness that is rare and oddly endearing.
Another thing that made this book a great summer read is that it’s a compilation of essays, so it was something I could pick up and put down without losing my way in the story. It’s a fun read.