Yesterday, I had the best sandwich ever.
Before I can go any further, I have to set up the scene. Over the past couple of years I have been engaged in a battle over my health. I went to the Doctor and he said I had high cholesterol. So, I ignored him for over a year, probably more like 3 years before my wife forced me to return. I had stayed away from him for so long that they filed my patient information in the vault. So, I had to redo all of my paperwork and take the annoying blood test again. But because of my age, 40, he felt that it was necessary to perform other tests as well. Tests that violated my manhood.
My Doctor is a kind little Pakistani gentleman. A very nice guy, and I like him as a person, but I reserve the right to dislike all Doctors as a profession, but that is another story. His nationality is only important because it is much funnier to imagine him saying this to me with his accent as I was huddled in the fetal position on the examining table, "Do not worry. My fingers are small." Those are the exact words he used. It did not make me feel any better, and as far as I could tell he might have been using a broom.
I tried to avoid returning to my Doctor to discuss the results of my blood test, mostly because I don't want to take any pills (and I didn't want another probing). I don't trust pharmaceutical companies or the FDA and I have visions of me taking some sort Alli like drug and being forced to live with the side effects (warning- link is descriptive and bodily functions are discussed using vulgar words, less offensive link here). After a good 6 months, my wife made the appointment for me.
When I finally visit my Doctor, he says that I have to diet and exercise. Diet? What is that? I eat what I want, when I want. I always have. My weight has not really changed since I was in college, but I must admit the distribution of my weight has been altered.
I have decided to attempt to play along with this, "Healthy Eating," routine. One of the things that I am supposed to do, is eat three good meals a day. I normally only eat one time a day, dinner time, and I consume large amounts of caffeine to keep going. I work harder this way and I've been doing it like this for years. But I haven't adopted the new way quite yet. There is too much work- physical work, that has to be done. If I eat I get sluggish, so no lunch for me.
My wife is too good to me. She has not let up on me doing the healthy eating thing. Everyday she reminds me of what I should be doing, and it seems that my three children have been listening. They are all aware that I am hungry when I get home.
We are almost to the best sandwich ever.
I come home Friday afternoon and my baby girl meets me at the door with two sandwiches in her hand. Savannah is 5 getting ready to go to kindergarten. She says,"Daddy, I made you some sandwiches," and she hands me two sandwiches. It was such a beautiful moment that I teared up and almost full-out cried.
Amy, my wife, says, "Tell Daddy what you put on the sandwiches." At this point I don't care what is on them. I have already decided that I am going to eat them no matter what. So I speak up and say, "I bet it is everything I like, isn't it baby?" I am questioning the wisdom of eating the sandwiches, but there is no way I can hurt Savannah's feelings. I convince her that I want to take everyone to dinner and that I will eat them for lunch on Saturday. I need the time to mentally prepare for my performance.
Saturday, lunch time. I sit down to eat my thoughtfully prepared meal. Two sandwiches.
Ingredients; white bread, turkey, mayo, sweet and spicy mustard, peanut butter and honey (and a ten inch long sandy brown hair). It doesn't sound that bad, and truthfully the first sandwich was nearly tolerable, but you have to remember children don't acquire the ability to smooth the ingredients evenly until about 12 years of age.
The second sandwich I took 3 bites from and I could not continue. The whole time I had been smiling and making yummy sounds, and telling Savannah how wonderful the meal was. When I put my sandwich down, Amy mercifully said, "Are you getting full?"
Savannah says, "Well, you can save it and finish it later." I jumped at the opportunity, and slipped the sandwich back into the plastic bag before carefully placing into the refrigerator. It was decided that I would finish it as a midnight snack.
As I placed the remainder of the sandwich in the garbage, I did cry. Savannah will be making all of my sandwiches from now on. And I will eat them. I just might need to guide her a little during the creation time...