My favorite sandwich has always been the one that someone else made for me.
Yesterday, Amanda made me a sandwich. This was not just any sandwich, this was a homegrown, custom-made tomato and mayonnaise sandwich. You don’t get any better than that. I will not argue with you over wearing a mask, the education of our children, or what is going on in the political world but if you can’t get behind a homegrown tomato sandwich, we should go ahead and skip the formalities and throw hands right now.
I told Amanda that it was the happiest sandwich that I had ever eaten. I couldn’t stop smiling. As I took a bite, (earmuffs Von) a plump of mayo came spilling out of the side and landed right there on my shirt, complete with a tomato seed right on top. Of course, I licked the shirt. You already know this.
My grandpa had a stain on his shirt about 90% of the time. He was one of the great sandwich eaters of the 21st century. His specialties were the tomato sandwich along with the cheddar, white bread, and mayo combination. He was a pioneer of the 4 slice formation which involved 3 vertical and 1 horizontal (Womahawk will get behind me on this. Yes, there is a hump in the middle but the 3-1-power-cheddar-position is the only efficient way to eat a cheddar-mayo-n-whitebread sammich.)
Granpa took sandwiches very seriously. He was in the business of taking 4 days to cut the grass, sitting in his shitty lawn chair that he parked in the driveway, waiving at passer-byers, taking naps, water-breaks, giving hugs and eating sandwiches. That was just how he rolled. I must have eaten 500 sandwiches with that man, and he made every one of them for me. Some of my fondest memories are going inside with my grandpa during a hot summer-day break and sitting down over a sandwich. I get teary-eyed just thinking about it.
Grandpa didn’t do CrossFit. He didn’t know his mile time or deadlift max. He wasn’t concerned about what he looked like with his shirt off. You see, grandpa was just fine in his mustard-stained white v-neck shirt, khaki shorts, church shoes, and black suit-socks pulled up to his knees. He never asked if his shirt made him look fat or if his “outfit” matched. If there is one thing that you could hang your hat on, it was that grandpa was gonna be grandpa, errr-damn-day.
I never met a man who took so much pleasure in the seemingly mundane and simple things as he did. I often wonder how grandpa would feel about the issues of the world today, and then I remember- if it didn’t involve grandpa’s family, grass, naps, fried chicken or sandwiches, he didn’t let things bother him. He was legit just happy to be here. I honestly never heard that man make a negative comment about another individual that was not in a Saturday morning wrestling ring. He was simple and seemed to always be perfectly content with the world. He was the master at, as they say, “wearing the world like a loose-fitting garment”.
Am I being a bit over-dramatic and nostalgic about a sandwich that my wife made me?
Perhaps. But if my biggest flaw is that I get too worked up over something as seemingly simple as a sandwich, I can be okay with that.
You can’t take too much pleasure in the little things and there is no such thing as deriving too much happiness from a sammich.
Peace, love and all things Beef related,