HERE YOU GO!!!!
"The Sandwich of Dreams"
The idea came to me all at once. See, I was making a sandwich, which is not at all uncommon for me. I make sandwiches all the time. One could say I'm a "sandwich person".
This particular sandwich was special, though. Because as I spread the peanut butter onto it, I decided jelly had been done too many times. I wanted a unique sandwich. I wanted something new.
There are so many options for things you could put on sandwiches, really. Sometimes I forgo the jelly and add slices of peanut butter. I've also tried peanut butter and Nutella, for chocolatey yum. There are days where I completely give up on the peanut butter idea altogether, and I just rock every kind of jelly in my fridge.
But today...today was not a jelly day. And, I thought as I threw my already-PB'ed bread in the trash can, neither was it a peanut butter day.
Today, in fact, was a candy day.
I wanted a candy sandwich.
A sandwich with Skittles, Starburst, gummy worms, M&Ms, Twizzlers. Hershey's chocolate bars for the bread. Liquid sour for the jelly. Fun Dip sprinkled on top. A side of Ring Pop.
Once the idea crammed its way into my brain, I could not get rid of it. I had to do this! It was essential!
"Mom!" I cried from the kitchen. "I need to borrow the credit card!"
"What for?" she shouted back. (She had holed herself up in the TV room, watching the football game.)
There were a few tense moments of silence. Mom was never one for allowing me my experiments without question. Surely she would have something to say, surely she would not let my declaration of "sandwiches" go without comment.
"Don't we have stuff for sandwiches in the fridge?"
I knew it. She could see right through me. She had magic mom radar or something. Oh, how I detested the magic mom radar. Couldn't she just trust me, like Pete's mom did? Pete always got to do the things he wanted. Granted, most of the things he wanted to do included studying and Bible camp, but that's beside the point.
I would have to word this carefully.
"Well, yes, we have jelly. But we are almost out. And I'm in the mood for crunchy peanut butter, and all we have is creamy."
More silence. I caught myself holding my breath.
"You never eat crunchy peanut butter," she says, suspicion lacing her every word. "You say it tastes too much like chewing on wood."
Damn her and her perfect memory for things to use against me.
"Normally it does, but I tried some particular crunchy peanut butter at Pete's house and it was really good, and I'm craving it. I NEED it, mom!" I congratulated myself for mentioning Pete. Mom considered him a good influence. If Pete had talked me into eating a different kind of sandwich, then it must be a good thing, right?
I waited patiently. The seconds seemed to tick by like years, and I could feel my precious candy sandwich slipping away from me, like my childhood dream of being a snowman when I grew up.
Finally, finally, I heard mom shift from her chair. A few moments later, she yelled, "Card's on the living room table. I want a receipt when you get back."
SCORE! If I had the card, it would be easy enough to get the peanut butter receipt and hide the candy receipt. Sure, she'd find out about the candy sandwich eventually, but by that time I'd have already happily consumed it.
I raced into the living room, snatched the card, and ran the three blocks to the store.
There is very little in this world more soothing than the candy aisle. Rows and rows of pre-packaged sugar highs just waiting to be opened, consumed and experienced. Ounce after ounce of delicious regret in a gaudy, colorful wrapping. And today, my mission was to grab as many sandwichable candies as possible. I snatched a basket and commenced loading it up.
With each bag that dropped in, I felt my heart swell with excitement. This would be the best day ever, and no one could take it away from me. No one. I had power in my hands, I could feel it. A power that I knew any of my peers would die to wield. The power of consuming as much candy as possible in one go. Today would become a national holiday for kids everywhere. The day that one of us decided to stand up against the mighty heath food industry and claim what was rightfully ours: Our ability to eat whatever we wanted and not gain a pound. Thank you, teenage metabolism, thank you.
The clerk eyed me carefully when I brought it all to the checkout counter. "Having a party?" she asked.
"Nah. Making a sandwich." I watched her eyebrows raise, nearly melding with her hairline.
"Okay, well, I hope you're sharing, that's all I'm gonna say." I knew what she was really thinking, though. She was thinking about how jealous she felt, how she wished once more for the privilege to consume ridiculous amounts of candy just like me, to fill my belly with it and spend the rest of the day tormenting my mother while it wore off.
She finished ringing up my purchase, and I took the bulging bag of candy into my grasp, passing her the card and nearly shaking with the joy of it all. In a few short moments, my transaction had ended. When I got to the door of the store, I remembered the crunchy peanut butter and raced back to pick some up. The clerk made no comment this time, but I could tell she wanted to. She handed me my receipt, and I left, skipping all the way home as I planned out my sandwich, my candy sandwich.
My sandwich of dreams.