Master of the Half Sandwich

I don't sleep well. Never have. For the past few years I have spent many restless nights squished between a sprawling 6'5," 200(+) pound giant and a tiny, frail pixie who smooshes herself into any and every nook and cranny of my body she can find to snuggle into. Needless to say, early mornings are NOT my best time of day. The neurons in my brian are barley firing before or AFTER coffee. So that must mean I get everything ready the night before for the next day, right? Nope. I feed pets, make coffee, prepare Gilly's lunch and snack, double-check her homework, and pick out her clothes all before 7:15-the deadline for having her dressed, complete with piggy tails and bows-every weekday. The kid is off to school by 7:30 and I have precious few minutes to chug some java, pick out my own work ensemble, maybe take a shower (if I didnt take one the night before), definitely put on my face and hair. There is usually no time for a packed lunch of my own. But today, schools were closed due to snow and I had some time to spare. I decided bit of left over chili and a half sandwich would be perfect!

I found myself perplexed to the point of paralyzation as I stared at the bounty of turkey sandwich ingredients before me. How does one MAKE a half sandwich? I didn't want two half pieces of bread left. And the cheese. It's a large square. It wasn't gonna fit on my half-sammy, if I ever figgerd out how to make it. I just kept STARING at the bread, willing it to spill its secrets. Nothing came to me. Stupid bread, being all coy with it's knowledge.

Brian's 'Summie Sense' must've tingled because he suddenly appeared beside me. He noisily slurped his hot coffee and said nothing. "I'm tryin to pack my lunch." I explained, still staring at the sandwich ingredients.

My mild-mannered giant nodded and slurrrped again. "How's it goin'?"

"I want to make a half-sandwich. But how? I'll have left over bread." I glanced up at him and saw that he was LOOKing at me.

"Are you serious?" Sllluuuurrrp!

I shrugged "Well, yeah. I mean, restaurants do it all the time but I guess they don't care 'bout the other half-slices. They know they'll use it. But when am I gonna have another half-sandwich?"

"You know this answer." Brian informed me in his usual mellow tone. Also, slluuurrrp!

"Well, I can't make a turkey sandwich fold-over. The stuff won't fit. Also, how am I gonna fit a square of cheese on a half sandwich? It's gonna be too big and I don't want all that cheese anyway. Hmmm." Time was closing in on me. I had a few moments left to figger this one before I had to dash out the door into the elements and on to work.

"Cut the bread, Summer." It sounded like a mantra to me. Like "Cut the bread" was a chant that was gonna help me mellow out and allow the answer come to me. Well, I didn't have time for a mystical answer, dammit, I needed one now! "HOW THE HELL DOES ONE MAKE A HALF SANDWICH?? I'll have two LEFT OVER SLICES, BRIAN! I DONT WANT LEFT OVER SLICES!! And the cheese? How will it FIT!!??"

"Put one slice back in the package. Cut one piece of bread in two. You will have two slices." I swear he sounded like a Kung Fu master explaining the Secret of Life to me. And it was getting on my nerves. I LOOKed at the bread and saw that Brian, Great Master of the Half Sandwich, was correct. If I sliced the one piece of bread down the middle, I would have my two slices. So I hacked up the bread, slopped on my fillings and stufffed my perfect half-sandwich in a baggie. I held it up for Brian to approve and to give me, his "Lil Grasshopper" a pat on the head.

What I got was "Sllllluurp!" and, "I woulda cut it into a triangle." Like I needed to make it more complicated! I kissed The Master goodbye and flew out the door.

A triangle. Sheesh! As for the cheese, I folded it, split it and gave the other half to the dog.

Probelm. Solved.