I really wish D had not told me he had written to FritoLay. Not once, but twice. To complain about all dressed potato chips, and how he first felt so happy seeing them after moving to the states but was bitterly disappointed. They should be so flavorful that the first one makes you cough. “This is not ‘Canada’s favourite potato chip,’” he quoted to me, definitely pronouncing favorite with a U, still as incensed as I imagine him the day he wrote. And then on the day when he replied to the reply. We were walking back from the grocery store, bag of Ruffles all dressed chips in hand, newly hopeful about the future.