That's a Wrap

"See those two over there?" one of our buddies said Saturday, nodding towards a small cluster of guys downsand from our umbrella and beachchairs. "No, don't look now."

When the coast was clear, we were directed to a pair of tanned gentlemen on one of the Hampton's homo-hospitable beaches. Both seemed gently pulled on top and slightly sagging in the middle; the yin and yang of inextreme makeovers.

Apparently, they'd brought in a team of experts to rebuild their kitchen over the winter (as the Suffolkites are prone to do, or have done, every other season or so) and chosen the finest of Italian marbles for the countertops.

Now I barely know Corian from coriander, but somehow it struck me that marble tends toward a propensity for porousness.

"Oh, cumin come on, wouldn't that stain?"

That's the point, my friend informed me. Whenever these victims doyens of overspending design throw a dinner party, or toss a salad for that matter, they must cover their mutable marble with Saran Wrap, just to make sure it's not marred. I bet they weren't Glad when they figured that out.

I suppose a surreptitious snack of culinary coitus would be out of the question. If olive oil stains, I can only imagine what Boy Butter would do.

Seems like the story's got some cling to it ... I heard it three times over the course of the weekend.